


Fairest of Them All

by soulfulsin



Series: Mirror Mirror [2]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: On an adventure to see and perhaps speak with dead relatives via an enchanted spring, Webby discovers some unpleasant truths about her parents.Scrooge and the rest of the family discover that Della is still alive, albeit not how.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First things first. This is supposed to be set after Mirror Mirror. You may be like, "Why are you posting this if it's not over yet?" And I would tell you that because my insomnia is getting worse and because I want feedback now, not in, like, a month whenever I get to posting all of my backlog for Mirror, Mirror. (I'd like some reviews to look at when I'm invariably awake at *four in the morning*). 
> 
> I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm not sure how I'd continue it, though I have a vague idea. That's why this chapter is so short.

It was a tricky proposition and a dangerous hike up the mountain for the four of them. Scrooge considered it arduous, which meant the kids would probably have some problems with it. As was the case with their last adventure, Mrs. Beakley had insisted on attending. At the moment, she and the kids were ascending the mountain behind him. The climb was mostly silent, due to the strenuous nature of their activity.

 

Louie hadn’t been interested in going at first, because this was one of the adventures not involving treasure. They’d roped him along, although he claimed he’d joined under protest. On the other hand, the other kids were positively excited about this. It was just vexing that the object was on the top of a mountain, at the summit.

 

He wouldn’t have to compete with Glomgold to reach it, at least. The other Scottish billionaire would have no interest in a shallow pool that conveyed the faces and voices of those that the person who loved had lost. Scrooge wouldn’t look in it himself, but the boys had shown varying degrees of interest in it. He was afraid to see Della in there. There was no confirmation she had died, but there was none that she had lived, either.

 

To see Della would be to admit there was no hope. His heart was heavy at the thought and he focused on climbing the mountain. Any further rumination or brooding could wait until they reached the summit.

 

The next hour passed in relative silence. It was growing colder and he had warned everyone to conserve their energy. Mrs. Beakley had hardly needed the reminder, but the kids had. His hands had frozen inside their mittens and he’d long stopped regarding seeing his breath as a novelty.

 

After another half hour, at which point he thought his arms were about to pop out of their sockets, he reached the summit and guided the others up with him. They all panted and Scrooge cast his gaze about for the pool. He needn’t have worried about someone else being there; aside from themselves, there was no one.

 

He gestured for them to follow him into a cave and his skin burned upon contact with the much warmer air. His tail wagged, quite against his wishes, and he muttered. The kids were shedding their heavy winter gear, as it was about seventy degrees inside. The inside of the mountain had hot springs, which was what created such a dichotomy of temperatures.

 

“So, where’s this Pool of Eternal Reflection?” Louie asked. Scrooge wiped at the profuse sweat on his face; the sudden temperature change had induced sweating.

 

“Right there,” he said, pointing toward a lake recessed within the cave toward the back. They staggered toward it, exhausted from their trek. Since it was too high for Launchpad to fly, they would have to at least partially descend before the pilot could catch them. That assumed he didn’t crash into the side of the mountain.

 

Feeling as though he ought to face his fears, as the boys would expect him to, he knelt at the edge of the pool. Della’s face did not appear. Relatives he’d outlived had, but no one he cared to speak with. He stepped back; it’d been curiosity and fear that had propelled him up the mountain. While not seeing Della didn’t tell him anything more about her current state, it was reassuring to know that she wasn’t dead. He just didn’t know where she was.

 

But the board of directors would have his head if he produced that as proof that Della was still alive. He needed something more concrete. And those vultures would never have accompanied him up the mountain to see for themselves.

 

“I don’t see anyone,” Huey said, frowning. “Shouldn’t we at least have seen Mom?”

 

“She’s not dead,” Scrooge said and then excitement pushed at him. “She’s not dead! I was looking in the wrong place! If we can get a clue as to where she is, maybe we can find her ourselves!”

 

He jumped up and down and for a few seconds, he was elated.

 

“But if she’s not dead, then where is she?” Huey asked.

 

“That I can’t tell you, lad,” he said. “But this is good news.”

 

“If we can find her…” Dewey said and then his attention caught on something else. “Webby?”

 

Webby had collapsed to her knees too and was scrutinizing her reflection. Mrs. Beakley stood behind her and the young girl had gone utterly still, entranced by whatever she saw and heard. She reached trembling fingers out toward them, disrupting the water and the image.

 

“Webby, we can find my mom!” he said, oblivious to her mood. “Webby!”

 

“What’s going on?” Huey asked, torn between his own thinking of the logistics of both finding Della and how she’d managed to stay alive and Webby’s strange reaction.

 

“It’s all right, Webby,” Mrs. Beakley said in a tone that indicated she was trying her utmost to prevent an outcry. She placed a hand on her shoulder and Webby’s lower beak quivered.

 

“What’s the matter, lass?” Scrooge asked. He was too thrilled about Della’s being alive to fully comprehend what was going on with her. Then again, until the boys had come along, he’d seldom see hide nor feather of Webby. She wasn’t allowed to come near him and Scrooge didn’t know how much she knew or didn’t know about her parents if that was who she saw in the reflection.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Webby demanded, jumping to her feet. Whatever she’d done before had temporarily dispelled the lake’s magical effects.

 

“Tell you what?” Huey asked. “Who did you see?”

 

Webby was twisting the friendship bracelet around her wrist, which was something she’d started doing when she was agitated, he’d noticed. Webby didn’t appear to notice. She was worked up about something. What had she seen in the reflection? 

 

“My parents,” Webby said and a sudden hush filled the cave. Louie, who had been fiddling with his phone in lieu of anything more interesting to do, since the lake hadn’t revealed anything to him or his brothers, looked up and almost dropped it. He fumbled, shoved it in his pocket, and approached her.

 

“What about your parents?” Dewey asked. The air grew tense, pregnant with expectation. Scrooge found himself holding his breath for a few moments and then scoffed at himself. He was being ridiculous. Still, there seemed to be something Webby was holding out on saying. Huey, Dewey, and Louie surrounded her like a protective shield.

 

“My dear, I didn’t tell you because…” But Mrs. Beakley had nothing to back that up with. It seemed that despite her illustrious career as a spy she was intimidated by her granddaughter. Or perhaps there was guilt present because her gaze darted about the cavern instead of looking back at Webby.

 

Webby stared at her and ground her beak together to keep from crying. Alarmed, Scrooge moved closer to her too.

 

“We’ve got this,” Dewey assured him. Webby looked torn between fight or flight; she was quivering with suppressed emotion.

 

“Because I didn’t think you needed to know,” Mrs. Beakley finished. “I didn’t think it was relevant to your studies and because, quite frankly, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“It doesn’t matter?” Webby repeated. “I’ve been spending all of this time trying to find Della Duck with the triplets and you thought I wouldn’t care about my own parents?”

 

Her voice was low as if she were fighting the impulse to scream.

 

“You’ve never asked,” Mrs. Beakley said delicately.

 

“Because you never let me!” Webby objected. “And who else was I supposed to ask? Duckworth?”

 

“I, uh, think perhaps we ought to be going,” Scrooge said, attempting to little avail to defuse the situation. No one budged.

 

“What really happened to my parents, Granny?” Webby asked and the triplets moved as one to hug her. Her voice broke. “Why didn’t they want me?”

  



	2. Walking with a Ghost (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half of the chapter, which I wrote today as opposed to yesterday when this was posted. Heh. 
> 
> Webby decides to learn more about her family history and we learn a little about why her grandmother is keeping it from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded the whole thing to ff.net and decided it wasn't fair to have it as a chapter on there and not have the whole thing here too. 
> 
> I'd have uploaded it on Wednesday rather than today, but Wednesday is Yom Kippur. Also, I seem to be having a string of rotten luck and could use encouragement.

Betina Beakley was at a loss. How did you tell a child she was unplanned and unexpected? Moreover, how did you tell her that her parents were  _not_  good people? Or, at least, her father wasn’t. Betina had mixed feelings about Webby’s mother, Mrs. Beakley’s daughter. The fact remained that even though Webby was twelve years old, Webby’s mother had yet to visit her daughter or even acknowledge her existence. She’d also yet to speak to Betina; she’d merely dumped the egg as soon as was feasible and skedaddled.  
  
But you couldn’t tell a child that. However, she would have to tell her something, and soon, because Webby’s eyes had filled with tears and it struck a blow to Mrs. Beakley’s heart to see it. Webby didn’t cry easily. Even when Mr. McDuck had yelled at her, she’d prevented the tears from spilling over. She was proud of her granddaughter for being strong, stronger than her mother, in fact. While that was a good sentiment, it was not one to lead with and the longer she delayed answering her, the darker the looks the triplets gave her, and the more upset Webby became.  
  
She’d have to say something, even if she hadn’t the slightest idea what.  
  
“Well?” Webby said. Betina was surprised how much it hurt to see Webby this miserable. She wished she could take the pain on herself instead.  
  
“Your parents...were not the best suited to raising a child,” Mrs. Beakley said, striving for diplomacy. There was also a problem that needed addressing. Webby hadn’t told her who she’d seen in the pool nor what they’d said. If Betina was going to feasibly work her way around this, she required that information.  
  
She glanced at Webby’s shadow, but since Lena had been extracted from the friendship bracelet, it was just that--a bracelet. Lena was at home; although she had a body, she technically had no dead relatives, and of her living relatives, the less said, the better. Technically, Scrooge was a relative, if one believed that his fight with Magica had created Lena. That was another thorny business best left untouched for the moment. Needless to say, Lena had not come along.  
  
There was the additional problem of Lena’s coordination, which wasn’t up to scaling mountains at the present time. Minima had done her best, Betina was sure, but Lena had to get used to being corporeal again and, as such, she didn’t always manage walking over flat surfaces without tripping up. Poor girl. A mountain was out of the question.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dewey asked, oddly defensive. Della must’ve been on his mind.  
  
“It means that in this world, there are those who, how shall I put this? Their talents lie elsewhere, not in childrearing,” she said. “What did you see in the pool, Webby?’  
  
Webby swallowed hard, and Dewey squeezed her hand.  
  
“I saw my mother,” she said after an indeterminate amount of time. “She told me that I was a mistake.”  
  
If she weren’t confident that her daughter was dead, she would’ve wrung her neck. How could you say that to a child? Also, that did explain the radio silence on her daughter’s part. She couldn’t even have sent a death notification to her mother? Betina knew her daughter hadn’t been working for SHUSH like she had, but she still could’ve had something set up. She was affronted but knew now was not the time to indulge in that. Besides, the bigger crime he was telling Webby what she had.  
  
Scrooge McDuck shuffled from one foot to another. He’d met Betina’s daughter and had approved of her presence, much as he did of Webby’s, in the mansion. Back then, he’d been more involved in her life, seeing as she couldn’t have always brought her daughter along on spy missions. That wasn’t to say that Duckworth didn’t end up babysitting, but Scrooge had known Webby’s mother better than he knew Webby.  
  
Betina frowned. Truth be told...Webby had been a mistake. Mrs. Beakley had done her utmost to never make Webby think that, but part of the toll that exacted was never telling her about her parents. She shot Scrooge a dirty look. That practice could’ve continued if he hadn’t dragged the kids here, all because he remained obsessed with Della.  
  
“You know, these long silences are getting awkward,” Louie said. He squeezed Webby’s shoulder. “Not to mention ridiculous.”  
  
“This is a delicate subject matter,” Mrs. Beakley said.  
  
“It seems like this is a pretty cut and dry situation,” Louie countered. “I mean, is she a mistake? Obviously not.”  
  
To her relief, Scrooge spoke up to help run damage control.  
  
“When you get older, lad, you’ll see that things sometimes happen. They’re not...mistakes...per se,” he said, casting Mrs. Beakley a quick glance for help, but none was forthcoming. If he wanted to flounder in this too, then he could be her guest.  
  
“They’re more like happy accidents,” he finished.  
  
“My mom didn’t seem that happy to see me,” Webby countered, and the boys moved closer, trying to shield her from what she’d already seen. It was like drinking poison and having someone else take the antidote. It was already too late to prevent the damage; the best they could do was mitigate it.  
  
“Your mother was always difficult,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Come, wouldn’t you rather discuss this on the Sunchaser? On our way back?”  
  
She directed this last comment at Scrooge and gave him a pointed look.  
  
“Quite right, we’d all be more comfortable on the Sunchaser,” he agreed. “And while we’re there, I can see whether Gyro has any idea…”  
  
He trailed off at Mrs. Beakley glowering at him. Now was not the time to bring up Della.  
  
Mrs. Beakley moved in front of Webby, and the triplets remained where they were, eying her warily.  
  
“I  _am_  her grandmother. I was here before you three were,” she pointed out. “You don’t need to be so overprotective.”  
  
They stepped back, albeit reluctantly; evidently, adults keeping secrets regarding parents was a raw wound. If she could have trusted Scrooge to smooth that over, she would have. However, she knew that would be best left to their Uncle Donald, who had always been more perceptive than Scrooge.  
  
She hugged Webby tightly, and Webby clung to her; she was sniffling.  
  
“You may have not been anticipated, but you are wanted by everyone here,” she informed her. “We all love and care for you. As I said, your parents were not the best suited to childrearing, and they left you in my capable hands.”  
  
Webby nodded, but Betina could tell she wasn’t entirely mollified.  
  
“What happened to my father?” she asked. “I only saw Mom in there.”  
  
“Your father is still alive…” she said and bit back the rest of what she wanted to say, which was, _unfortunately._  
  
“Then why hasn’t he come to see me?” she said.  
  
“You don’t need another family,” Dewey said. “You have us.”  
  
Webby looked like she wanted to argue the point, but she shook her head instead. She gestured for Mrs. Beakley to release her and she darted toward the boys. Mrs. Beakley smiled. She was glad that Donald had brought them into the mansion; Webby had needed companions her own age or thereabouts, and they brought them with a sense of cohesion she hadn’t had before. Of course, it was not without its dangers, but she thought they were, on the whole, good influences.  
  
Mrs. Beakley wasn’t foolish enough to think the topic was over. Delayed, perhaps, but it would arise again. She intended to have a discussion with Scrooge in private aboard the Sunchaser if possible about whether the pool reflected the actual disposition of the dead. It wasn’t that she doubted Webby’s words, but she hated that her daughter might’ve been the one to inflict such pain on her.  
  
Then again, Webby’s mother had always been an insubordinate, ungrateful child. She’d resented Mrs. Beakley’s position within SHUSH and how careful they’d had to be. Although she later became a spy, she’d never liked it as a child. Mrs. Beakley suspected she’d only become a spy to spite her mother because Mrs. Beakley had wanted a safer avenue for her.  
  
While Webby’s personality could be a bit extreme at times, she never backtalked or ran off on her own into the same sort of situations as her mother had. Not that Mrs. Beakley had tolerated the backtalk, but no matter what she did, Webby’s mother had always engaged in sophomoric behavior.  
  
They trooped back through the cave, donned their heavy winter gear again, and descended the mountain in the same silence with which they had ascended it. This time, the silence was heavy and portentous. Mrs. Beakley couldn’t help stealing glances beneath her at Webby. Although she was trying to hide it, Mrs. Beakley caught her sniffling and swiping at her eyes. At this height, the tears were probably becoming icicles.  
  
To be honest, she wasn’t sure who to blame for this. Scrooge had insisted on everyone accompanying him, and Webby couldn’t say “no.” However, Mrs. Beakley had had no reason to believe that Webby’s parents would speak to her. Moreover, she had thought they were both alive. Again, the injustice of it struck her anew. One would think there’d be some sort of sign that your child was gone from the world. There had been nothing.  
  
She mourned her daughter, all the while worrying about her granddaughter. This was going to be a long trek down the mountain.  
  
\-----  
  
Webby was lost in her thoughts, which weren’t the safest place to be. She thought of how Della had perished in the alternate dimension, yet this Della appeared to be alive, if not well. Had Della abandoned the boys like Webby’s parents had left her? Was this the adults’ way of protecting them, by keeping them from finding out stuff like this? Webby had spent her entire life sheltered from everything, and it hadn’t occurred to her to be resentful of it. She’d taken it as a given she was stuck in the mansion until the boys had come along.  
  
Scrooge had said that the pool reflected a person’s relative’s real disposition, although they were shades, phantoms. When confronted with proof of her daughter, her mother’s first inclination had been to repudiate her. To tell her that she’d never wanted her and that as far as she was concerned, she didn’t exist to her.  
  
Webby rested her head against the rope for a few seconds and swallowed sobs. It hurt to cry in this altitude, between the low oxygen levels, the chill, and the height. They had another hour until they could reach a space where Launchpad might be able to scoop them up. Her legs trembled, and she knew that if it hadn’t been for her, they would have taken a more extended rest. If anything happened to her or anyone else, it was because of her.  
  
She wished Lena had come along. While she loved the boys, it wasn’t the same. She needed a female friend. Lena would understand all about not being wanted. Webby swallowed back another sob. While her grandmother’s words contradicted what her mother had said, it didn’t erase them. The negative always weighed heavily than the positive.  
  
It was too cold to talk, not that she was sure she wanted to. She hadn’t missed her grandmother’s glances down at her.  
  
What had happened to her father? Granny had said he was still alive, but nothing more than that. Did her father even know she was alive? Or...had he gone on not knowing she existed? That he’d helped bring her into the world?  
  
It was tremendously difficult to suppress the sobs at that, and her whole body trembled as she concentrated more on putting one foot in front of the other, finding the toeholds and fingerholds, and rappeling down. She blinked away the tears as best she could and told herself she could cry later, when she was alone. Right now, she had to focus on descending.  
  
At least with that to distract her, she could push away her misery for a brief while. All too soon, however, the physical exertion was over, and they climbed the rope into the Sunchaser. Unfortunately, without focusing on not falling and climbing carefully, she had nothing else to occupy her mind. It returned to the pool where she’d seen her mother, who’d been a buxom beauty, her appearance marred by the sneer on her face.  
  
She wished the Sunchaser were more like a ship so there might be some place she could safely hide. The triplets were distracted again, as Scrooge was regaling them with his future plans for hoping to locate Della. Mrs. Beakley, however, was not so quickly put off. She approached Webby, who was hanging out in the back of the ship. She’d been hoping if she stayed out of sight, she might be out of mind too.  
  
“I’m sorry,” her grandmother said. “I know it must’ve been a terrible shock to you. I never wanted you to find out that way.”  
  
“Then how did you want me to find out?” she asked, hugging herself. She allowed her grandmother to hold her again, although it made her feel like she was eight instead of twelve and walking around with that absurd pink doll.  
  
“I hadn’t planned on telling you until you were much older,” she admitted. “Of course, I had hoped by then I would have had some word from your mother. This was not how I’d thought I’d find out about her fate.”  
  
“You didn’t know she was dead?” she asked, pressing her face against her chest to conceal her tears.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Were you two close?” she asked, though she couldn’t see how that was possible if she hadn’t heard from her since Webby’s hatching.  
  
“Almost as close as Mr. McDuck and Donald were after Della’s disappearance,” she said. Webby felt like a leaden weight had fallen on her chest.  
  
“Wow,” she muttered.  
  
“Of course, Mr. McDuck did keep tabs on his nephew, despite Donald’s attempts to remain off his radar. He had already lost one relative. He wasn’t about to lose another if he could help it.”  
  
“But you didn’t keep tabs on Mom?” she asked. It felt odd to say “Mom.” When she was younger, she remembered once or twice calling her grandmother that only to be corrected gently. To her, Granny had always been an indomitable force of will. She didn’t see how anyone could walk away from that, especially her daughter.  
  
“Spies can be difficult to find if they don’t want to be.”  
  
She stroked Webby’s hair.  
  
“And my dad?” she asked.  
  
“You’re better off not knowing him,” she said, which was precisely the wrong thing to say, for Webby stiffened in her arms.  
  
“I mean it, Webbigail Vanderquack. If he isn’t aware of you, that’s a good thing.”  
  
“I don’t see how that’s a good thing,” she replied. “Shouldn’t he know that I’m around? And...how doesn’t he know?”  
  
“Your father and your mother had a brief fling,” she said. Webby got the hint that she’d meant to say something else but was sugar-coating it for her sake. If she hadn’t been bristling before, she was now. What was she so determined to keep from her?  
  
Webby looked up to spy Dewey looking at her. Louie glanced up from his phone to meet her gaze too. Huey was too busy discussing logistics with Scrooge to notice.  
  
“She didn’t tell him about me?” she pressed. She didn’t understand how. True, her mother had called her a mistake, but...wasn’t the arrival of a child a happy occasion? Scrooge had said that children could be “happy accidents,” not mistakes. Webby shifted, uncomfortable. Had the adults been lying again?  
  
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell him about me?” Webby continued.  
  
“As I said, your father is better off not knowing about you,” she said.  
  
“We’ll see about that,” Webby said.  
  
“Oh, no. No, you’re not. You are not to go poking around trying to find out what happened to your parents the way you did with Della Duck,” she sniffed. “It’s too dangerous.”  
  
“I’ll be careful,” she promised, a gleam in her eyes. “I won’t do anything stupid.”  
  
She suppressed a grin. Oh, there was no way she was letting this slip through her fingers. This time, all three boys were looking her way, her fellow co-conspirators. Granny hadn’t forbidden her to investigate her parents’ disappearances and identities.  
  
And, well, what Granny didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.  
  
\----  
  
“You know, they weren’t exactly pleased with what we did before,” Huey pointed out.  
  
“I know, but…” Webby gnawed her lower beak. “You had to find out what happened to your mom. I have to find out what happened to my parents.”  
  
“We’re with you,” Dewey promised, ignoring Huey’s look. “But we don’t even know where to start.”  
  
“My granny said my mother was a spy,” Webby said. “She probably didn’t mean to tell me that, but we can work with that. If she worked for SHUSH, then maybe we can find out her name and maybe even who my father was. She said they had a fling, my parents.”  
  
“If it was a fling, then why would it be in the SHUSH history files?” Dewey said.  
  
“I don’t know, but I don’t have anything else to go on,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. “And Granny won’t tell me any more than ‘your father is better off not knowing about you.’ What does that even  _mean_?”  
  
“That  _is_  a bizarre thing to say,” Huey allowed.  
  
“But why wouldn’t your dad want you? You’re awesome,” Louie said. “A little intense, but still cool.”  
  
Webby flushed and smiled at him.  
  
Dewey elbowed him in the ribs and Louie affected an innocent look. Perplexed, she looked at Huey, who just shrugged.  
  
“We have to see if I can get into the SHUSH files,” she said and then her face fell. “Without Granny finding out. That might be harder than I thought…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby finds out her mother's name...and that SHUSH wants to keep the secret of its agents and villains under wraps, no matter who's looking. 
> 
> And...we have an introduction of someone who needs no introduction, especially if you've seen Darkwing Duck.

Steelbeak was in a towering rage. And when Steelbeak was angry, people tended to get hurt. Unfortunately, because he couldn’t get his hands on Gosalyn, he’d have to settle for throttling someone else, i.e. anyone who was stupid enough to linger in his path. Foiled by Darkwing Duck again, this time with the help of his daughter, Steelbeak longed to get his fingers around the girl’s throat. Of course, if he did that, Darkwing’s fury would probably have been legendary.

 

At the moment, he thought he could stand to risk it. Besides, it might be entertaining.

 

Years ago, Darkwing Duck used to be a TV show. That was until the villains decided that playing villains on TV was unsatisfying and they’d rather commit actual crimes. The Fearsome Four were legends in their own right, but they were the small-time crime. (With the exception of Negaduck, who even Steelbeak avoided when possible).

 

When it’d been a TV show, Steelbeak hadn’t played along. As F.O.W.L.’s top agent, he’d preferred to keep things out of the public view. It wasn’t until Jim Starling’s son had assumed the mantle of Darkwing and taken it beyond the TV show that things got complicated. What was worse was that Starling’s son had changed his name and Steelbeak’s attempts to find his real name were obfuscated. Without Gosalyn’s last name, he was stymied.

 

Steelbeak did not like children on general principle. They were annoying, small, and tended to get in the way of his schemes. They were also whiny, demanding, and altogether a nuisance. If he’d had his druthers, he’d have knocked out of the lot of them and only dealt with the adults.

 

That brought him back to his previous point. He really, really wanted to kill Gosalyn. Or at least leave her so incapacitated she’d be unable to thwart his schemes, with or without her father’s help. Of course, the law frowned on murdering children, but he considered it a necessary evil, like avoiding the rain with his metal appendages. Certainly, he had no compunctions about killing Gosalyn. Her death would mean nothing to him.

 

To be perfectly honest, he was a sociopath. Killing someone meant nothing to him, regardless. Sometimes he got a thrill out of it, especially if the person died in a particularly gruesome manner. But in general, no. A death would not weigh on his conscience.

 

What he needed was a good soak in the steam baths with a cover over his beak to prevent it from being damaged. It was titanium, which didn’t rust very easily, but it did, eventually, rust somewhat. He didn’t want a rusted appendage, thank you very much. That would be the sum of his luck lately, though.

 

His hands flexed like he could wrap them around Gosalyn’s throat. She was a slippery one, just like her father. Hmm. How many kids in Saint Canard were named Gosalyn, anyway? It couldn’t be a common name. Perhaps he didn’t need her last name. Perhaps all he needed were her first name and the school records.

 

\----  
  
  
  
Webby was stymied. She didn’t have any hacking skills and Louie kept running into firewalls. He’d promised her he ought to be able to break through the last bunch, but it’d take a few hours of code running. She had no idea what she would find, if anything. Just because her mother had been a spy with SHUSH didn’t mean that her father’s name would materialize like magic. Besides, if it’d been a fling like her granny had said, then it was even less likely.

 

She happened by the mirror in the hopes that maybe her counterpart would stop by and return her note. True, she could’ve gone through and found Webby 2 herself, but Scrooge had wanted them to calm down with the mirror travel for a while. No one knew how the mirror worked, save for Magica, and no one wanted to find out if there were multiple ways to break it. So, in the meanwhile, Webby would send notes and see whether Webby 2 responded.

 

It was possible that Webby 2 had a similar backstory with her parents. However, it was also likely that Webby 2’s parents had suffered a different fate. After all, Della had vanished in this universe but remained alive, whereas she’d perished in Webby 2’s universe. It was rather hard to theorize, one way or another.

 

Unwilling to sit and wait on the off chance Webby 2 happened by the mirror, she left the archive room and headed for the boys’ room. Perhaps by now one of the decryption keys had worked.

 

She found Louie looking at his computer with utter betrayal on his face. The green-clad triplet growled, fists balled in his hoodie, and looked up at her. Dewey and Huey had already backed up and away from Louie’s anger. Webby blinked.

 

“What’s up?” she asked.

 

“They installed a trojan horse on my computer and now it won’t boot up,” Louie complained. “So much for hacking into SHUSH files. I had no idea their security was that good.”

 

Webby plopped onto a nearby pillow and grimaced. Louie was still glowering at his laptop screen and he shut the lid.

 

“I’ll have to reinstall the OS and use the drive as a slave to another hard drive to fix what they did,” Louie grumbled. “Sorry, Webs. I tried.”

 

There were other places where the information might be, such as within the house, but Mrs. Beakley’s security had to be the physical equivalent of SHUSH’s digital security. There was no way anyone was getting at her grandmother’s belongings without her permission. And there was also no way that Mrs. Beakley would divulge the information.

 

However, she refused to let that bother her. It looked like her only lead would be the other Webby, then. She wasn’t content to wait for her to answer her, though. She needed to be working on something else in the meanwhile.

 

“Would Uncle Scrooge know?” Webby wondered aloud.

 

“Since when are we trusting him to tell us the truth when he practically bit our heads off over Mom?” Dewey pointed out.

 

“We could always try Duckworth,” Huey said. “He might know something, if we can find him.”

 

“I don’t know…” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “He cleaned my room for years without my knowing he existed. He can turn invisible when he wants to. It’s hard to figure out where he is in the house.”

 

“It’s either Duckworth or Scrooge,” Huey pointed out. “We’re not going to get anything out of your grandmother.”

 

The SHUSH files had been her best hope. She looked, forlorn, at Louie’s laptop. He’d taken out a second one and was fiddling with the screws on the first one. Whatever he was doing, it looked complicated. Webby was knowledgeable about a lot of things, but computer and tech weren’t among them. Up until recently, her grandmother had barely let her have a phone.

 

They could spend an entire fruitless afternoon searching for Duckworth. At least Scrooge was alive and visible all the time. Making her decision, she headed for his office and then slowed. She’d forgotten about Lena.

 

Lena was sitting in a room Scrooge had given her, though it barely looked lived in. It resembled her room below the theatre, actually, although Webby had never been certain how much of that decoration was Lena’s idea and how much Magica’s. The teenager was fiddling with her phone; she was typing something quickly and looked up when Webby came in.

 

“Hey,” she said, embarrassed that she’d forgotten about Lena in the excitement.

 

“What’s going on?” she asked and then looked at Huey and Dewey. “Where’s Louie?”

 

“Trying to fix his hard drive,” Huey answered. “After SHUSH caught him on their files and ruined it.”

 

Lena put the phone down and examined them with a wry smile on her beak. “This sounds interesting. What’s going on?”

 

Webby explained what had happened at the pool and Lena listened attentively. When she’d finished, Lena was twisting her colored lock of hair around her finger and looking uncertain.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “I don’t have Magica’s powers anymore, so even if I wanted to help you snoop, I can’t. But…we should try Scrooge first. Maybe there’s a way to trick a ghost butler into showing up.”

 

“Douse the house in flour?” Dewey suggested.

 

“Granny would kill you,” Webby pointed out.

 

“It’d make a good diversion,” Dewey said. “She wouldn’t know you were asking about your mom if she was too busy cleaning up flour.”

 

“Quit it with the flour!” Huey told him.

 

Lena rolled her eyes at the boys. “C’mon, Webby. Before these two decide they’re going to bake a cake with the house as the stuffing.”

 

They found Scrooge just finishing up a call with Gyro. He seemed surprised to see them, though his brow furrowed upon spying Webby. Webby thought of her mother’s reflection and winced, that now familiar tight ball in her throat surfacing. It made her question whether she really wanted to do this. After all, her grandmother had said that her parents hadn’t been suited to childrearing and that she was better off not knowing her father…

 

But how could she leave that mystery alone? She finally had some information about her parents and she needed more. Regardless of whether her parents had been terrible people or not, she couldn’t let this go. It was just like with Della. The mystery was too much to let it slide.

 

“What is it, lass?” he asked and inclined his head at Lena. “Hello, Lena.”

 

“I was wondering if you could tell me anything you knew about my mother,” she said.

 

Scrooge scowled. “I assume your grandmother told you to leave it alone.”

 

“Yeah, but--”

 

“And you learned nothing from what happened when you investigated Della?” he asked and Webby flinched. Lena stepped closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. Webby had told her what had happened, on the Sunchaser, before Magica had freed herself from the dime.

 

“This is different,” she protested. “Anything you could tell me would help.”

 

“Lass, if your grandmother doesn’t want you to know about your mother, then I am not going behind her back to tell you,” he said, shaking his head. “Webbigail, while I never met your father, I have a fair idea who he might be and this is too dangerous to go poking around in, especially for a child.”

 

Webby gritted her teeth. She was tired of being told she couldn’t do something because she was a kid. She couldn’t help being a kid. Why should she be penalized because she was young? Sometimes it felt like adults kept things secret for no good reason.

 

How did you turn a “no” into a “yes”? Maybe there was a way she could trick him into..but no. Mr. McDuck could be truly unpleasant when cornered.

 

“You couldn’t give us a hint?” Lena said.

 

“We promise we won’t go after them,” Webby added. “Well, after my dad. My mom is, well...I mean...how would it hurt to tell me about her? She’s not coming back.”

 

It hurt to think that, but it hurt more to remember what she’d said to her. “You were a mistake, Webbigail Vanderquack. I never meant to have you and I never wanted to see you.”

 

“Please?” she begged.

 

Scrooge frowned, not like he was about to reject her plea, but like he was mulling over how much to tell her. “I still don’t like going around behind your grandmother’s back.”

 

“Anything,” she added. “A name.”

 

“And what can you do with a name?” he asked.

 

“Please,” she said, about to get on her hands and knees if that’s what it took.

 

“Almost anything about your mother would be classified,” he mused. “So I suppose a name couldn’t hurt. But only your mother’s name. Not your father’s. I don’t want you mucking about with that, do you hear me?

 

“Your mother’s name is--well--was Wren.”

 

It occurred to her that she didn’t know who her grandfather was, but since “Wren” seemed to be the extent of what she was getting out of Scrooge, she was grateful. Besides, if Louie could fix his computer problems, maybe they could search Wren Beakley and see what they turned up. She had to admit she was more curious about her father, especially after all of these warnings, but she didn’t want to press her luck.

 

What was so dangerous about him, anyway? She was clearly on the wrong side of SHUSH operations, but beyond that, well...he could be anyone. SHUSH didn’t publish its dossiers on villains anywhere public and if Louie’s computer couldn’t handle hacking it once, she doubted he’d try again.

 

“Thanks,” she said and impulsively gave him a hug. He hugged her back, but his expression was stern.

 

“I mean it, Webbigail. Don’t go poking your beak where it doesn’t belong. You’ll get hurt.”

 

“I understand,” she said. Scrooge glanced back at his phone and then at the papers piled on his desk. He was frowning still.

 

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Lena said, grabbing Webby and skedaddling. They left Scrooge deep in thought and Webby felt cautiously optimistic. There had to be stuff that wasn’t classified about Wren Beakley. And it was a start, which was more than they’d had before.

 

She gnawed her lower beak. What didn’t they want her to know?

 

\-----  
  


Gosalyn Mallard probably shouldn’t have poked the hornet’s nest. She couldn’t resist, though. Darkwing Duck was her hero and she’d loved Darkwing as a concept ever since she’d seen the TV shows as a little kid. Knowing he was real and, more than that, that he was her father, was beyond cool. So if she’d tagged along on a super dangerous mission with Steelbeak, she was sorry but not sorry. Not sorry enough to mean it when she’d apologized to her father.

 

She had no idea she might’ve painted a target on her back by joining her father as Quiverwing. Then again, Gosalyn didn’t always understand the kind of danger she was in until it was too late. Her ever-present faith in Darkwing Duck prevented her from seeing reality.

 

Besides, everything would work out. It always did.

 

\----  
  
  
  
Steelbeak loved the internet. It was so useful, compared to back in the 90s when information was much harder to obtain. If he’d had the internet at his disposal all those years ago, perhaps he wouldn’t have had to seduce that SHUSH agent. Then again, maybe he would’ve anyway. It’d been amusing.

 

With the internet at his fingertips, he was capable of locating Gosalyn in a matter of minutes. She went to Saint Canard’s premiere elementary school and her best friend was Honker Muddlefoot. Her last name was Mallard. Unfortunately, the school did not give out addresses, nor did it tell him who her father was. Perhaps he should just be thankful he'd managed to track down her last name--schools didn't normally give out the full names of minors.

 

What it did provide, however, was a detailed period schedule, as well as dismissal times. He grinned.

 

All he needed to do was to nab Gosalyn as she was coming out of school. That should bring her father running. And if her father was Darkwing Duck, as he suspected, he would soon have his real name and a way to ruin his life. There was the chance that the school wouldn’t release her into his custody--schools had gotten rather strict about who was allowed to pick up whom (something that the 90s had done much better in terms of permitting kidnappings). He would take that chance. Usually, weaponry helped prove his point.

 

There was something bugging him, though. Not about Gosalyn. Someone was poking around in the old SHUSH files. When they’d first started the computerization, they’d had rudimentary protections and Steelbeak had easily circumvented them. They’d since expanded their firewalls, but Steelbeak remained entrenched in the system under an old backdoor they’d never bothered to close. Your tax dollars at work, folks.

 

If they were investigating old SHUSH projects and members, even if they hadn’t been successful at it, he didn’t like it. There was every chance they could find information pertaining to him. He’d had to lie low to prevent SHUSH from getting wind he had access to their files, which meant he’d had to let them keep confidential data about him. The idea of anyone having that type of knowledge made him want to grab the individual snooping by the throat and shake them until their neck snapped.

 

The IP address provided had so many redirects that it was impossible to identify the origin point. That didn’t mean he couldn’t track it down. It would just require time and effort; this was a project he could give to the Eggheads. Once he had it down, he’d teach the person stalking him a few etiquette lessons.

 

One of the redirects led to McDuck Manor, he saw. His zeal cooled. Gosalyn Mallard was one thing. Scrooge McDuck was another can of worms entirely. Scrooge had the influence and power to ruin his life, not to mention a bottomless bank account. Steelbeak cursed. It might’ve been an attempt to obfuscate the IP address further--this was the only location in Duckberg--but it required close observation. If there was even a remote chance that the person whose failed attempts to access the files was an occupant of McDuck Manor, he might want to let that one slide with minimal tracking.

 

Because he had no desire to screw with Scrooge McDuck. It could be one of the last things he ever did.

 

Steelbeak growled. From bad to worse. Bad things always came in threes. Darkwing and Gosalyn trouncing him earlier, someone poking about his old files, and now the possibility of Scrooge being involved. He was not a happy bird.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn how Webby's mother met her father and what came of that meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place before the series, so consider this an interlude. 
> 
> Wren panicked when she found out she was expecting and fled without thinking it through. Shame led her to stay away after that. My original concept of her was different than what came out here. She isn’t really a bad person. She was just a kid who got in over her head. 
> 
> One more thing: this has to be the most edited of the chapters I've posted for this series so far. I'm also sick, so if anything is weird, blame that.

(About twelve years ago)

 

Wren was nervous. This was her first big spy assignment with SHUSH and they’d pitted her against Steelbeak. All the intel in the world couldn’t help her if she couldn’t get her stuff together. Moreover, Steelbeak had already killed two dozen agents in the last two weeks. Of course, her mother had insisted that she should receive the assignment instead, due to Wren’s inexperience. Wren had shot her down; she wouldn’t make it on her own if she kept standing in her mother’s shadow her whole life.

 

The plan was simple; she was to have a rendezvous with Steelbeak, ascertain that he had the device in question, and then get out. Leave someone with more experience handling villains like Steelbeak to retrieve the object. It rankled and Wren had already decided that she was going to retrieve it, regardless of what SHUSH had told her.

 

The only problem with that was she suspected, as did SHUSH, that Steelbeak was keeping it in his hotel room. Being a female operative would work for her in this instance and she thought she could pull this off. Steelbeak was known for being avaricious and she assumed that extended toward his other appetites as well. All she needed to do was seduce him and steal the device. Easy-peasy.

 

She hadn’t let slip any of this plan to her mother, because she knew Betina Beakley would’ve demanded she be taken off the case immediately. She was already engaging against her mother’s wishes. If her mother found out she wanted to bed Steelbeak so he’d let his guard down enough for her to steal the device, she’d go apoplectic with rage.

 

Or perhaps she’d just deliver the talking-to of Wren’s life. Wren rolled her eyes. She was old enough not to be spoken to like a child. She was twenty-one; it wasn’t like she was still an irresponsible teenager. And besides, that part of the mission could be fun.

 

There was the fact of the matter that she didn’t know what she was getting herself into, but Wren was young, arrogant, and brash. That this mission would prove her downfall would never occur to her. That this mission could also produce a child would also never occur to her. Wren was in control of the situation.

 

Or, at least, she thought she was.

 

\----

 

Steelbeak hadn’t been hatched yesterday. He knew a SHUSH agent when he saw one. After all, he’d just disposed of about two dozen. This duckling had no idea who she was messing with. But, hell, he had time to kill and maybe this particular agent would pose more of a challenge than the others had. If not, well, that was hardly his problem.

 

They were schmoozing at a gala that Steelbeak gallantly pretended wasn’t a trap for SHUSH agents to pick at him. This particular agent was slim with blonde hair and an alluring figure wrapped up in a skintight dress. She probably thought she could seduce him. The night was still young. She might get lucky in that respect, but...make no mistake. It would be he who directed this dance, not she.

 

She had to be the youngest SHUSH operative he’d seen in a while. The last one had been dour and old and he’d enjoyed killing him. Not with his bare hands; that’d be barbaric. No, he’d trapped him in a brick-making factory and, well, what could Steelbeak say? The guy provided great support in one of his new buildings.

 

He spun the agent around--she’d already broken one of the rules SHUSH had tried to hammer into her. He knew her name--Wren. It’d be rude to take out his phone and attempt to search her and he wasn’t sure it mattered either way. She would probably be dead in the morning. He had a low tolerance for spies.

 

He’d find a tasteful way to dispose of the body. Still...his gaze swept up and down her body appreciatively. It’d be a shame to waste such a beautiful figure.

 

“You know, you’re a duckling compared to the agents they normally send after me,” Steelbeak commented, spinning her around. Wren choked and he enjoyed the dismay flitting across her face. He smiled cruelly.

 

“You thought I wouldn’t figure it out?” he whispered, pulling her close. “You have SHUSH written all over you, doll.”

 

“That’s not--” she stopped, panic suffusing her features.

 

“Not what?” he teased. “What you came here to hear? You thought you’d trick me into revealing something? You really are new, aren’t you?”

 

He pinched her cheek. “You’re adorable.”

 

“I am not!” she huffed and he could feel her heart rate pick up through his palms. He grinned.

 

“How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?” he continued. He must've hit the nail on the head, because her eyes darted here and there, searching for the exits. There must've been fewer SHUSH agents here than he thought if she couldn't find help so quickly. Or was she the only one here? Wouldn't that be a nasty twist for her?

 

Wren looked like she wanted to bolt and he brought her closer, right up against him. He was enjoying the terror he’d inflicted. Plus, she couldn’t very well disappear before she’d accomplished her mission, especially if she was the only one here capable of it.

 

“Old enough to know what I’m doing,” Wren said and stiffened her spine. Oh, ho, she had a backbone. He liked that in his women. Plus, the fear made her sensible. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid of him. (Years later, he'd meet that idiot in person).

 

“Do you?” he crooned and chuckled. They continued their circle of the room. She was still scared but she maintained eye contact with him. He was holding her too tightly to prevent easy egress, regardless. He didn't want her slipping through his fingers, not until he was done with her.

 

“Yes, I do,” she said and glowered at him. Her black dress with its slit down her right leg whispered about her legs and brushed against his white tuxedo. The dress revealed a surprising amount of cleavage and he enjoyed the view. She huffed and he grinned.

 

“If you didn’t want me to look, you shouldn’t have worn that,” he parried. “Or are you getting in over your head?”

 

Wren squared her beak and he snorted.

 

“I could give you a chance to back out, return to SHUSH, and tell them whatever lies you think will keep them from firing you,” he offered. “That’s better than I offered the last agent. Then again, the last one screamed for hours and gave me a headache.”

 

She glowered. “I’m here to get what I came for.”

 

“You’re the diversion, aren’t you?” he said. “There’s no way they’re letting you run the show.”

 

“I refuse to answer that,” she said. She interlaced their fingers to show he wasn’t intimidating her, though he knew he was. He moved one of his hands from hers to press lightly against her backside. Her breath hissed out through her clenched beak.

 

“I have all night to wait for something to happen,” he teased. “Do you?”

 

“I have all the time I need,” she countered.

 

Oh, she was so young. And so very foolish. He would enjoy toying with this one.

 

\----  
  
Wren awoke in the morning with a headache and a nagging sense she’d done something reprehensible. She'd been sleeping in a bed, which was good, except she didn’t recognize the bed or the room surrounding it. Moreover, she was sleeping in a king sized bed, which she didn’t have back at McDuck Manor.

 

Because she wasn’t at McDuck Manor.

 

She bolted upright and cursed loudly. That perfect little dress was lying on the floor, as was Steelbeak’s tuxedo. She groaned, burying her head in her hands. True, she shouldn’t have let him ply her with drink, but...oh god. This was a disaster.

 

Fortunately for her, Steelbeak was out of the room, but she didn’t delude herself into thinking she had time to look for the device. She could barely stand looking around the room; the sunlight seared into her eyelids and threatened to burn out her eyes. This was the first time she’d drunk to excess and she had to wonder if he’d drugged her. Or maybe she just was that stupid.

 

She cursed again and grabbed her clothes. Dressing with a hangover was difficult but not impossible. Her shoes had gone missing, those precious stilettos she’d felt so adult wearing. And she was an adult. A very, very stupid one. Wren groaned, burying her face in her hands again. Why her?

 

This whole night had been a mistake. What would her mother think of her now? She’d tried so hard to prove to her that she was capable of making her own decisions and she could hold her own. Maybe she’d be lucky. Maybe nothing would come of this and she’d never have to tell her mother.

 

She groaned, performing the walk of shame out of the suite. Steelbeak was in the shower; she could hear him singing the Darkwing Duck theme song and then grumbling about it. It was a catchy tune, she’d give it that. But since he was distracted, she should be able to slip out with him being none the wiser.

 

And she’d never ascertained that the modulator was in his possession. Wren cursed, staring at the hotel room door. She hadn’t stepped out yet; there might be time to search for it.

 

Or maybe she shouldn’t push her luck. Cursing a blue streak, she took her leave, not knowing that Steelbeak had let her leave. That he’d been feeling charitable when he woke up this morning. If he hadn’t, she never would’ve made it back to McDuck Manor in one piece.

 

\-----  
  
An egg. There was an egg. Wren considered smashing it to pieces, but she didn’t have the heart. Besides, it was rather large and it looked viable. There was no way she could hide it. Despondent, she sank to her knees in her room and stared at the egg in horror.

 

She’d have to tell her mother. She rocked back and forth and gaped at the egg some more. Of course, she could decide not to brood over the egg and it wouldn’t hatch. Then again, that’d be the same as killing it, wouldn’t it?

 

But she didn’t want to be a mother. This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. She’d never wanted children. She’d never liked children. All her life, she’d been trying to prove how mature she was. Well, she was certainly mature now, mature enough to create life.  
  
Then there was the problem that it'd been _Steelbeak's_ egg. She didn't want anything tying her to him and to be frank, he still terrified her. This was a disaster, bar none. How could she have slept with him? What was wrong with her?  
  
Her memories of the night were foggy, but enough to tell her that sleeping with him hadn't been her idea. Had he been drunk too? No, probably not. Ugh. She rubbed her temples; a ghost of the hangover she'd had that day returned. What was she supposed to do?  
  
The egg was helpless and so was she. She had a sudden desire to smash it and she even brought her fists up against it, but she ended up cradling it instead. Sobs threatened to overwhelm her.  
  
"I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to...but I can't...I can't..." she whispered to the unborn hatchling. She pushed the egg away and huddled, hugging her knees. She cried until she ran out of tears and compounded her headache. Then she resumed staring.

 

Her mother found her like that a few hours later, still gawking in dismay. Mrs. Beakley glanced from her to the egg and back.

 

“Oh, Wren...what have you done?” Mrs. Beakley asked in a gentle voice. The lack of judgment in her voice sent chills down Wren's spine. She didn't want this. She wanted her mother to rage at her and blame her for her indiscretions. That might've been normal. Wren's lower beak quivered and a decision she hadn't known she'd been making flew to the surface.

 

She bolted to her feet. “I...I’m leaving. If you want the egg, you can keep it. But I’m not. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

 

For a moment, Mrs. Beakley seemed at a loss for words. Wren was stunned herself. She hadn’t expected to say any of that and once it’d come out, it was irrevocable. Feeling shaky (after all, that huge egg had taken a lot out of her to lay), she heaved herself to her feet and started packing. She wasn’t sure where she was going or how she’d get there, but she couldn’t stay here. She wasn’t ready for children. She’d never be ready for children.

 

“You can’t leave,” Mrs. Beakley objected. “This is your child.”

 

“I don’t want it!” Wren cried. “I don’t need it. I don’t need a duckling crying after me! You want it, you take it. But...but if you don’t want it...I’ll just...I’ll find somewhere to dump it.”

 

She said the words, but there wasn’t any conviction behind them. She didn't really want the egg abandoned. Her hands trembled as she shoved clothing into bags.  
  
"It's...it's not even mine..." she said, which was preposterous because of course it was. "It's Steelbeak's."  
  
Mrs. Beakley flinched. She didn't say anything for a minute and Wren resumed her hurried packing.

 

“Listen to me,” Mrs. Beakley said, grabbing her daughter by her shoulders. “You brought this egg into the world. It’s fertilized. It’s viable. You need to take responsibility for it.  
  
"I know that this is problematic because of who the father is, but you can't just abandon it, Wren. It needs you.”

 

“No, it doesn't!” she said and smacked her mother in the face with her luggage. “It doesn't need me--it needs _you._ You'd be a much better parent than I could ever be to it. I don’t care if it’s fertilized. I don’t care if it’s viable. I just want it gone and since you won’t let me get rid of it, I’m getting rid of me. That’ll solve the problem.”.

 

“Listen to me, child,” Mrs. Beakley said and she was shaking.

 

“You cannot abandon your offspring simply because it proves inconvenient for you to keep it. And if you're worried about Steelbeak, we have options. SHUSH can help you."

 

She was panicking. She recognized in the back of her mind that she was panicking, that perhaps her mother was right. However, right now, she didn’t care about any of that. She needed to escape the situation before the world collapsed upon her. And...if Steelbeak ever found out he sired a child, that would be the end of her life as she knew it.

 

“Wren--” Mrs. Beakley started, a last-ditch effort, perhaps, to convince her otherwise. Wren grabbed whatever she’d shoved into the bags and set off for the door. Mrs. Beakley moved in front of it.

 

“I’ll leave when you’re asleep,” Wren threatened. “You can’t stay up forever, Mother.”

 

“You’re serious about this. You're going to leave the egg to me,” Mrs. Beakley said and it was like an anvil had crushed her mother’s spirit. She sounded weary as she moved aside and Wren stumbled, not expecting the lack of resistance. Well, that was good, right? Her mother had capitulated and understood that Wren was an unfit parent.

 

“Yes, I am,” she said. She could still feel the adrenaline coursing through her. The fight or flight impulse was strong.

 

Her mother glanced from her to the egg and then back. She stepped toward the egg and rested a hand on its surface.

 

“You poor child,” Mrs. Beakley said and Wren knew she was talking about the egg. “You poor, poor child.”  
  
"Wren, you don't have to do this," she pressed. "I can help you raise the child."  
  
"I don't want it! I never wanted a child and besides..." She didn't know what to follow that up with. She cast the egg one last glance and felt almost like her heart was ripping in two. But that was ridiculous. She had no sentimental attachment to the egg. It was just an egg. It wasn't even a duckling.  
  
"I didn't think I'd have a child either," her mother said and reached out to embrace her. Wren sidestepped her and forced herself to stop looking at the egg. It'd be a girl. She knew that. But she had to stop thinking about it or she'd change her mind. And she didn't want to ruin her daughter's life the way she'd ruined her own.

 

Shrugging it off, trying to act like it didn’t bother her, she finished packing and headed out. That was the last time she saw either of them again.

 

\----  
  
  
Wren stood outside McDuck Manor. She'd had a sense that her child was hatching and she wanted to go in, but shame held her back. The girl would be better off not knowing her. After all, she'd abandoned her to her grandmother.  
  
She wouldn't want her. She would want someone who would love it. Wren swallowed back a lump in her throat. She could never be the kind of mother the hatchling would need. She wasn't good enough.  
  
She stepped away from the bars and cast one last look at the Manor. She tried to convince herself that resurfacing here was a mistake and that her child wouldn't want to know who she was, much less be raised by her. Mrs. Beakley had always been far better at handling children than she was. Her mother would know what to do.  
  
It was odd that, though she'd never intended to have children, she'd picked out a name anyway. She whispered it as she walked away.  
  
"I'm sorry, Webbigail."  
  
\-----  
Mrs. Beakley had been up for 48 hours straight with the incubator and waiting for Webbigail to hatch. She’d heard nothing from Wren since her departure and she wouldn’t answer her phone. Mrs. Beakley had tried tracking her down but to little avail. Wren simply did not want to be found, especially by the likes of her.  
  
Waiting for Webbigail to hatch was more stressful than Wren's hatching had been. She'd been so frazzled she'd barely paid attention to the security cameras and so, had missed the sole figure walking away from the gates. If she'd seen her, perhaps she could've brought her back. If only, if only...

When Webby did hatch, Mrs. Beakley was both relieved and saddened. Webby went looking immediately for her mother and didn’t find her. She started crying, which prompted Mrs. Beakley to sniffle too. She didn't know how Webby knew that her mother wasn't here, but she'd sensed it.  
  
"Sssh..." she said, smoothing over Webby's head feathers. "Sssh. Granny's here. I won't let anything happen to you."  
  
She'd promised the same thing to Wren and her heart wrenched. She added to Webby, "I won't let you out of my sight. You'll be here, in the Manor, where you'll be safe. I promise."  
  
If Steelbeak ever came looking for Webby, on the off-chance he knew she existed, she needed to be prepared. And she'd need Webby to be prepared too. And the only way to do that was to take matters into her own hands.  
  
"Oh, Wren..." she said and felt a sob build up in her chest. "You didn't have to leave..."  
  
Had she thought she was protecting Webby by going? Or did she really think she was an unfit parent? Mrs. Beakley would rectify the mistake, either way. Looking at Webby, she knew she loved her from the start.  
  
Perhaps that was good, in a way, because Webby was all the family Betina had left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids try to find out more about Webby's mom and Mrs. Beakley has her own reasons for keeping Webby in the dark. Meanwhile, Steelbeak stalks Gosalyn and Darkwing (a.k.a. Drake Mallard).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Beakley, while she seems to allow me in her head, is an intensely private person. At the end of the scene with her, she shoved me politely out the door and closed it on me. I expect I’ll see more of her, but only after she’s composed herself.
> 
> This chapter was written before Wednesday's update.

How could there be nothing about Wren Beakley? It was like she’d never existed. Stymied again, Webby glowered at Louie’s laptop, which he was huddled over like it was a baby. Then again, after what had happened earlier with his hard drive, she supposed it was. She wasn’t sure the boys had another computer, beyond their phones and Louie’s backup, and their searches had likewise turned up nothing.  
  
“Wait, there’s something,” Dewey said, peering over his younger brother’s shoulder. He poked at the screen and the link loaded. There was a tiny picture on an old website of a slim woman with Webby’s blonde hair and wearing a skin-tight bodysuit with her arm around, of all people, Della Duck. Della wasn’t named in the picture (probably why the triplets had never found anything about their mother before), but it was recognizably her.  
  
Webby drank the old, grainy picture in. It had been taken a few years before Webby’s hatching. There was no caption beneath it, nothing to indicate why the picture had been taken, and it was the only thing on the page. It looked like part of the page had broken--perhaps the HTML had gotten corrupted and no one had fixed it. Louie right-clicked on the site to check the code. Her eyes glazed over--this was the extent of her technical knowledge.  
  
They were all huddled in the boys’ room; Webby leaned against Lena, who had an arm draped around her. While Lena’s presence was a comfort, as were the boys’, it didn’t ameliorate the stress she felt. Plus, she wasn’t sure how Louie was wading through all of that code. It looked like lines upon lines all written in a minuscule font.  
  
“Well, that’s creepy,” Louie said after a few minutes’ attempting to read through it. “It looks like this page was run by a stalker who had a thing for our moms. But this was the only picture of the two he was able to take, probably before the cops nabbed him.”  
  
“How can you tell?” she asked.  
  
“I’m guessing about the stalker thing, but there are all these broken links to other image files,” he said. “The host he was using for the pictures was taken down years ago. And the other site doesn’t allow direct linking.”  
  
“Then how did that one picture fall through the cracks?” Huey asked.  
  
“A good question,” he said and glanced over at the hard drive he had attached as a slave drive to the second laptop. She had no idea what he was doing with that and she was sure if he explained, it’d be way over her head.  
  
“Couldn’t tell you,” Louie said finally. “Unless the Junior Woodchuck Guide has something?”  
  
This last he said sarcastically. Webby thought perhaps the guide predated the internet, which made it ancient.  
  
Huey leafed through the book and then shook his head. He looked disappointed his beloved guide had let him down. Webby smirked. She knew that book wasn’t infallible, regardless of what Huey might say to the contrary. He thought the book was practically given to them by the gods.  
  
“So, hey, at least we know what your mom looked like?” Dewey offered.  
  
“And we know she was a terrible person,” Lena added, prompting the boys to stare at her. “What? You’re not a mistake.”  
  
“It doesn’t tell me very much,” Webby said.  
  
“What more do you need to know?” Lena countered. She hugged Webby to her. “Let it go, Webby. She’s not much of a loss.”  
  
Webby bit back the impulse to tell her that she didn’t understand. Lena wouldn’t understand--she hadn’t been created in the traditional way. Moreover, her “childhood” had consisted of a barrage of verbal abuse. In a way, Webby supposed she was lucky. She’d never had to deal with anything like that with her grandmother.  
  
Speaking of her grandmother...she was wondering when she’d realize what she was doing. Mrs. Beakley seemed to have a sixth sense sometimes about when Webby was up to something. When she was five, she’d tried to sneak out of the manor and her granny had caught her shimmying down the trellis. That may have had more to do with the security system than her grandmother’s intuition, though.  
  
“I wish she would’ve said more to me besides that,” Webby said, staring at the floor. “We were barely there for five minutes before Uncle Scrooge decided we should go.”  
  
“Did you really want to have a conversation with someone like that?” Dewey replied gently.  
  
“She was a spy who liked to wear skin-tight outfits,” Louie said. “Who apparently didn’t like kids. That conversation wouldn’t have gone very well even if you’d had it, Webs.”  
  
While she understood intellectually that you couldn’t force someone to have a conversation, especially someone who was dead, that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She wanted to return to the mountain and the pool, but that was out of the question. They’d need Launchpad and they didn’t have the kind of influence with him that would let them travel unaccompanied by either Scrooge or Mrs. Beakley. They were, after all, only kids.  
  
Sometimes she hated being a kid. It felt like adults had all the power.  
  
“We need to find someone else who knew my mom, either as a kid or an adult,” she said. “They’d tell us, like what happened on Ithaquack.”  
  
“Yeah, but we happened upon Ithaquack,” Dewey pointed out. “We didn’t plan it. At least, I didn’t. I don’t know about you.  
  
“But who could possibly know your mom who would help us?”  
  
“This would be so much easier if Granny would just tell me something,” Webby said, scowling. “I don’t know why she’s so close-beaked about it. For a few years, I thought parents were something that happened to people on TV.”  
  
“It kinda feels like that now,” Louie muttered.  
  
“Hmm…” Lena said. She reached for the amulet that, of course, she no longer possessed as it was Magica’s property. “If I could turn into a shadow and back and forth…”  
  
She shuddered. “Never mind. I don’t want to be a shadow again, not even to help you out.”  
  
“No one’s asking you to be,” Webby said and smiled at her. “But I’m touched anyway.”  
  
“We know Scrooge wouldn’t have any mementos of Wren because she’s not his family,” Dewey mused, ignoring the moment between the girls and pacing with his hand on his chin. “So…”  
  
“Do you really want to break into Granny’s room?” Webby said, shaking her head. “It’d be worse than breaking into mine. And you know how well that went.”  
  
“But we don’t have any leads,” Dewey said, frustrated. “Scrooge only gave us a name and there is nothing online.”  
  
“What about old-fashioned research?” Huey said and when the other two boys glanced at him, he added, “Library? Books? You know, _pre_ -technology. Microfiche. They might have something. Unless SHUSH erased all trace of her from history, there’s got to be bread crumbs somewhere.”  
  
“That could work,” Lena agreed. “What do you have to lose? And your grandmother can’t possibly know you’re looking into your mom if we just leave the manor without saying anything.”  
  
“Without telling her where we’re going?” Webby asked.  
  
“It’s the library,” Louie said, rolling his eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen? A book falls on your head? Chill.”  
  
He stepped away from his computer to wrap an arm about her shoulders. “As long as you don’t accidentally freak out and set the place on fire, we’ll be fine.”  
  
“Why would I set the library on fire?” she asked, nonplussed.  
  
“I don’t know. Why did you set Funzo on fire?” Louie countered.  
  
“This is getting us nowhere,” Huey said, forestalling an argument. “Is everyone coming to the library?”  
  
“Books aren’t really my thing,” Louie said. “Plus, I have to make sure that the Trojan Horse SHUSH installed doesn’t wreck my hard drive. Pass.”  
  
“Dewey? Lena?” Huey prompted.  
  
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Lena said with a shrug. She smiled at Webby and Webby smiled back. She hugged her best friend and reached for her hand to hold. Lena raised her eyebrows at her and Webby played it off like this was normal. She still wasn’t sure exactly what their relationship was; she got butterflies when she was near her and when she touched her. However, she didn’t know if Lena reciprocated or even what this was...and she didn’t dare jeopardize their relationship by saying something.  
  
That didn’t stop the impulses to touch her, though. It just made them more confusing and painful to suppress.  
  
Dewey glanced at the two girls and how even though Lena hadn’t taken Webby’s hand, it was tantalizingly close. On the plus side, Huey remained oblivious. He had taken out the JWG and was leafing through it again.  
  
“All right, we start with the microfiche and work our way through that,” he said.  
  
“One problem. What if she didn’t live in Duckberg her whole life?” Webby pointed out. “Then she wouldn’t be in the old newspapers.”  
  
Spies traveled a lot. Or at least, that was what she’d gathered. She’d spent her entire life in McDuck Manor, except for occasional excursions for training. All of her knowledge of spy stuff was secondhand.  
  
“We might as well look,” Huey said, shrugging. “What else are we going to do? Uncle Scrooge’s locked up in his study talking to Gyro and your grandmother’s not going to tell us anything.”  
  
“To the library, then,” she said. She was trying to avoid Lena’s gaze now so she didn’t inch her fingers closer to Lena’s. Hand holding was platonic, right? Okay, maybe not at their respective ages, for whatever age counted for in former shadows.  
  
They trooped out of the room and Webby kept looking over her shoulder. She’d never done anything so blatantly against her grandmother’s wishes and she feared that Mrs. Beakley was psychic. Or, at least, that she had a sixth sense for this.  
  
“Would you relax?” Lena said and deliberately brushed her fingers against Webby’s. Webby startled and Lena smirked. Did the older girl know what she was doing? Or was she just messing with her?  
  
“She doesn’t know what we’re doing and she’s not going to find out,” Lena continued. She squeezed Webby’s hand and Webby felt like time was standing still, that she was waiting to see what Lena might do or say next. The other girl released her hand, however, which left Webby feeling oddly bereft.  
  
“I’d say we could take the bus to the library,” Dewey said and then grimaced, “but that didn’t work out well before.”  
  
“If I promise I won’t hit the emergency brake, lick anything, or bother anyone, would that work?” Webby asked, doing her utmost not to think about the sparks and how she kept rubbing her hand.  
  
“I don’t know,’ Huey said. “No offense, Webby, but you’re pretty memorable.”  
  
“That’s not a bad thing,” Huey rushed to add, seeing Webby’s face. She was frowning and staring at the floor. “I’m just saying that it might make things more difficult.”  
  
“I got excited,” she said, feeling defensive. “I’ve never been on a bus before.”  
  
“You’ve never done a lot of things before,” Dewey remarked. He reached for her hand too, perhaps to take the sting out of his older brother’s words. Webby could feel her pulse race.  
  
“Let’s just focus on getting to and from the library and getting information,” Huey suggested. “We’ll worry about taking the bus and anything else later.”  
  
Was it her imagination or was Lena eying her? Webby swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Thinking about her parents ought to ameliorate some of this. She hoped. Otherwise, she was up a certain creek without a paddle.  
  
\-----  
  
Mrs. Beakley had kept her own tabs on Webby’s father. She was grateful that her daughter hadn’t “spread the wealth”, so to speak, so that she at least knew who he was. On the other hand, she had picked the most despicable person Betina could think of to procreate with. Yes, Betina knew it was a mistake. Yes, she knew that (insert excuse here) had resulted in Webby’s creation. Part of the reason Betina kept tabs on Webby’s father was that she didn’t want him anywhere near her granddaughter.  
  
She wasn’t stupid. She knew that the kids were trying to investigate Webby’s mother and, from there, attempt to find her father. That was why she’d launched the SHUSH attack on Louie’s laptop. She’d have thought that would’ve been sufficient warning. However, Webby was nothing if not determined, a trait she’d inherited from her parents and grandmother.  
  
She wondered whether it would’ve been better to simply tell Webby, end the mystery, and prevent her from making contact with him. Webby’s father was not known for his patience and tolerance for children. News had filtered in from Saint Canard about FOWL’s renewed activities, thwarted by Darkwing Duck, of course. Betina thought Darkwing was just an idiot in a mask, hat, and cape, but at least he kept FOWL busy. And if FOWL was busy, they wouldn’t be looking toward Duckberg.  
  
Not that Webby’s father had any reason to do so. Once Wren had passed out of his life, his attention had returned to his own city and his own problems. Betina cursed her daughter’s moment of weakness, although she was grateful Webby was in her life. Betina loved Webby, regardless of the circumstances of her conception. It was just that there was a loose string there that Betina could not snip.  
  
She did not want to envision Webby’s father’s hands on her. If he couldn’t dispel Webby by normal means, he’d use her as a tool or a weapon, possibly to draw Betina out. Betina had never had any personal dealings with him, as they ran in different circles, but he could be spoiling for a fight against an armed opponent. She didn’t consider Darkwing Duck much of a threat. How could he be, when he was based off a television character?  
  
She clicked through the SHUSH files on her computer. The children should be unable to locate anything about Wren through conventional means. Mrs. Beakley had been thorough in eradicating her daughter’s shadow. Whatever she could scour from the internet, she had. Unfortunately, she had no power over the library’s archives. If something had slipped through the cracks, she wouldn’t know where it was or how to access it.  
  
That was troubling. What was equally troubling was that the children were missing from the manor. (While Mrs. Beakley didn’t have a sixth sense for where her granddaughter had gone, she knew Webby well enough that she wouldn’t have let this rest). Unfortunately, she had things that needed to be taken care of before she could ostensibly track down the errant children. And, to be honest, so long as the triplets (and Lena) weren’t leading Webby into danger, she might want to rethink interfering. Children could be so mulish when they were told they weren’t allowed to know or do something. Betina had seen it time and time again in Wren, though not so much in Webby.  
  
Webby was a good kid. She would just have to hope that Webby would have the good sense to know that if she did stumble upon her father’s identity, that she shouldn’t tangle with him.  
  
After all...Steelbeak was not father material, any more than Wren had been mother material. Mrs. Beakley sighed. She wished she hadn’t gone with Scrooge to the pond. Her daughter’s death competed with the anguish Wren had caused Webby. Betina wanted to mourn Wren, but she couldn’t separate it from what Wren, even in death, had done.  
  
And of course, Mr. McDuck was mired in his office making up plans to locate Della. He’d extended the search to the moon, including the dark side of the moon. Donald would have no part in it and he’d excluded the kids, to prevent them from getting false hope, but Scrooge was running on false hope himself. She didn’t want to see what would happen when it inevitably failed him.  
  
Still, Della wasn’t dead. And, even though it was being cruel...Betina didn’t know which was worse, Della being alive or Wren being dead. Why had her daughter been so obstinate about not seeing Webby and not contacting her? She didn’t even know how Wren had died or when.  
  
Betina sighed, in the middle of vacuuming near the boys’ room. As headstrong and as deeply vexing as Wren could be, Betina wished she’d had a chance to have one last conversation with her. The only way to do that would be to secure Launchpad’s services and fly back to the pond. Of course, Launchpad was Mr. McDuck’s employee, not hers, and besides, she didn’t entirely trust him not to strand them there.  
  
But in lieu of a shadow conversation, she’d never spoken with her again. The knowledge sat heavily on her chest. Why had she been so foolish? Was it shame over Webby’s conception that had driven her away from her? Didn’t she know that she would have welcomed Webby regardless?  
  
No, the real tragedy here was that Wren had perished and Steelbeak was still alive. She had thought vacuuming would take her mind off this, but cleaning could be mindless work and therefore, left her entirely too much time to think. She hadn’t thought she’d be this affected by it, but she’d lost Wren all over again today.  
  
Betina still remembered the day her daughter had hatched. Even as a duckling, Wren had insisted that the spotlight be on her and was obstinate about getting her way. While Betina prided herself on being strong and never showing her emotions (she was British, after all), this was too much. She glanced about to ensure Duckworth wasn’t lurking around and then slipped into her room. The cleaning could wait.  
  
Shutting the door behind her and then locking it for good measure, she capitulated to her grief. Alone and miserable, as it should be. There was no need to let anyone else see her vulnerable.  
  
\----  
  
Much to Steelbeak’s severe irritation, Gosalyn had not appeared after school at the designed hour. It was possible, he supposed after nearly an hour of waiting, that she had activities that kept her later. However, he didn’t know how much later that would be and whether he could afford to wait.  
  
The other problem was that Gosalyn’s father, Darkwing, would show up. He wouldn’t be in costume and he certainly wouldn’t let Steelbeak waltz off with his child. Unfortunately, Steelbeak was not inconspicuous. He’d never tried to be before and he wasn’t about to succeed now. He cursed under his breath.  
  
He needed a different plan. He needed someone who could subdue an unruly child and smuggle her back to FOWL HQ without arousing suspicion. Unfortunately, the Eggheads weren’t inconspicuous either. Damn, he wasn’t used to employing subtlety. He was used to demanding what he wanted and getting it. (Then inevitably being foiled by a SHUSH agent or Darkwing Duck. Yes, he knew that Darkwing was technically a SHUSH agent, but he was a buffoon in comparison to their polished act).  
  
Negaduck would’ve been able to pose as Darkwing and steal Gosalyn, but Steelbeak didn’t want to tangle with him. Plus, he didn’t see why Negaduck would help him, especially as doing so would entail admitting his failures.  
  
The other villains were about as subtle as a brick. He grimaced, cracking his knuckles and leaning his head back in the “unsuspecting black van” that totally didn’t scream “kidnapping kids”. Really? How was this van inconspicuous? Idiots.  
  
The sad fact of the matter was that with his latest plan foiled, he had nothing better to do than wait for Gosalyn to materialize. He dozed, coming to when he heard Gosalyn. He straightened up and then lowered himself so he was less visible.  
  
“It’s not my fault that I hit him, Dad,” Gosalyn protested. “I mean, he wanted the puck. I gave it to him. He opened his mouth at the wrong time.”  
  
“If you keep knocking kids’ teeth out, Gos, you’re gonna get suspended again,” her father warned. Steelbeak raised himself slightly to study him. He was slim and his voice was oddly familiar. Gosalyn huffed, not accepting her father’s sage advice.  
  
“Well, if he didn’t open his mouth at the wrong time, that wouldn’t have happened,” she retorted. “It’s not my fault. I saw the shot and I took it.”  
  
“I know hockey can get a little violent, but you’re not supposed to play it like that,” he argued.  
  
“Oh, like you’re the one to lecture me on violence,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “You go out every night as a vigilante--”  
  
“Say it a little louder, why don’t you?” he said, shushing her. “The people in the cheap seats didn’t hear you.”  
  
“I’m just saying that it’s pot calling the kettle black,” she said. “Why can’t I be awesome and knock people around like you?”  
  
“Because, Gosalyn, I’m doing it in disguise,” he said. “And also, if you keep getting into fights, your social worker is not gonna be happy with me.”  
  
“Feh, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Gosalyn said dismissively.  
  
“I beg to differ,” he said and shook his head. “You haven’t been telling anyone else about my late-night excursions, have you?”  
  
“Of course not, Dad. I’m not an idiot. Only Honker and he already knows who you are.”  
  
“Yes, well, let’s keep it that way,” he replied and they hopped into the car. “I’m not done lecturing you, young lady.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah…” she said, rolling her eyes again. They pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Steelbeak with a bit to chew on. How many vigilantes did Saint Canard have? He could only think of two offhand that were male.  
  
Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck. And Gizmoduck also moonlighted in Duckberg. Steelbeak grinned to himself. It was almost like Gosalyn wanted to be captured. All he’d have to do is follow them home and let the fun begin.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steelbeak goes after Darkwing and Gosalyn. Meanwhile, in Duckburg, the boys and Webby discover some unpleasant truths about Webby's parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please appreciate my use of the word "mickey". The irony of it being in a Disney based story amused me. 
> 
> Also...blah, life is hell irl, so please leave me some love.

“Dad?” Gosalyn asked, frowning. They’d driven several blocks away from their house and were waiting in front of a random person’s house. She didn’t understand why her father was tense, shoulders up and his eyes darting wildly from one side of the street to the other. She turned about in her seat and saw a black van sitting down the road and almost out of sight.  
  
“We’re being followed,” he said. “We can’t go home.”  
  
“By who? That van?” she asked, craning her neck to get a better look at it. He yanked her back down.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “He’s been following us the entire ride home or hadn’t you noticed?”  
  
“I kinda thought he just happened to be going the same way we were,” she said. “Why would someone be following us?”  
  
“That’s a very good question,” he said. He unbuckled his seatbelt and threw it aside. Then, flinging open the door, he prepared to step out of the car and confront their erstwhile stalker. He flung himself flat to the asphalt as a bullet sang through the air right where he’d been standing. If he’d been in his Darkwing outfit, it would’ve nicked his hat. Gosalyn’s heart hammered.  
  
Gosalyn peered over the back of the seat despite her father’s earlier admonition. The van’s front door slammed and Steelbeak was approaching them. Drake Mallard pushed himself to his feet and glanced from her to Steelbeak and back. He assumed a defensive position.  
  
“Stay down,” he hissed at her. “Don’t do anything.”  
  
“Can I help you?” Drake growled.  
  
“You’re Gosalyn’s father,” Steelbeak said and smirked. “Would you also, by any chance, be Darkwing Duck?”  
  
Gosalyn stifled a groan. She should’ve known that slip-up would come back to haunt her. She’d been scared and yelped “Dad” in a moment of panic, right in front of Steelbeak. Drake had told her to sit still and Gosalyn weighed the consequences of that. Steelbeak was here because of her. How could she stay when he had been following them because of her?  
  
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Do I look flamboyant to you?”  
  
“You look like an idiot, but who am I to judge?” Steelbeak retorted, advancing on him and holding his gun level at his opponent’s chest. “Get your daughter out of the car. Now.”  
  
“I don’t think so,” he said. Steelbeak growled, aiming another shot at him, but Drake had moved, rolling out of the way so that the bullet deflated his front tire but passed harmlessly away from him. Coming up from the roll, he flung himself into the car, ducked as another couple rounds hit his driver’s side door, and then pulled out his gas gun.  
  
“Aha, so you are Darkwing Duck,” Steelbeak said. “That’ll make this so much easier--”  
  
“Suck gas, evil-doer!” he snapped and blasted Steelbeak in the face with a gas canister. Starting up the car, he ignored the flat tire and drove off as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast considering the aforementioned tire. It flapped and the car pulled, the weight unequally distributed. Gosalyn didn’t think it was going to level itself off on the remaining three wheels.  
  
“I hate running,” he grumbled. He glanced over at her and fought the wheel to keep the car under control. “So, he’s after me because of you and he’s figured out my secret identity. Great. What else could go wrong today?”  
  
“Um, Dad?” Gosalyn said and tugged on his sleeve.  
  
“What?” he snapped.  
  
“He’s still following us.”  
  
The smoke was dispersing and the black van had started up, preparing to go through it and crash into them. He swore profusely and shoved open the door. He yanked her out of the car with him.  
  
“What about--” she started.  
  
“No time,” he said. “We’ll be able to better camouflage on foot.”  
  
“But we won’t be able to go as fast,” she protested.  
  
“We won’t be going very far in a car with a flattened front tire, either,” he pointed out, hauling her along. They found a thick brush to conceal themselves in. It was scratchy and she opened her beak to complain; he shut it for her. He was trembling and she could tell he was itching to put his costume on and fight Steelbeak mano a mano.  
  
“You need to go home,” he growled. “I’ll draw Steelbeak off. And don’t stop for anything along the way. not even if Honker shows up and has something that determines the fate of the universe. Do you understand?”  
  
“I got it, jeez,” she said and rolled her eyes.  
  
“I’m serious, Gos,” he said. “He was following me because of you. You need to get to safety.”  
  
He popped up from the foliage and smirked at Steelbeak, who was only a few feet away. Still equipped with his gas gun, he rolled and darted down the street to see whether the villain would follow. He didn’t. Instead, he reached into the brush and Gosalyn squirmed, dodging his groping hand. She was getting scratched up in the process, but that didn’t matter right now.  
  
Just as his hand was about to close on her collar, she kicked as hard as she could. She heard something crack. If she ran out from hiding, he’d know where she was. Of course, he knew where she was now, but the brush provided some measure of cover. Her father cleared his throat and shot a gun canister directly in between Steelbeak’s eyes. The beak might’ve been metal, but the rest of his face wasn’t. It hit with a hard clang and Gosalyn scrambled, ignoring the way the thorns pulled and scratched at every exposed bit of skin.  
  
The gas cloud was thick and she coughed, covering her face as she ascertained which direction was home. But, no, if he was following her, she’d have to be out of his line of sight before she pelted for the house. Otherwise, he’d tail her. Her heart pounded and she heard her father taunting Steelbeak. Gosalyn smiled. Leave it to her dad to make the best out of a terrible situation. She loved him so much.  
  
Once she was sure that Steelbeak was dazed, she bolted, opting instead to go to Honker’s house. She figured if the Muddlefoots got caught in this, at least Steelbeak wouldn’t know where her house was. Okay, so maybe she also wanted Honker’s help and maybe this wasn’t the best idea she’d ever come up with, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of options.  
  
As she darted down the street and crossed to the next one, she heard cursing and exclamations, but she was too far away to discern what they were saying. She pumped her legs faster and, when she reached her home street, crashed into Honker’s door.  
  
“Gosalyn--what?” Honker exclaimed, having seen her run up in the window. She grabbed him and ignored the pounding headache she’d given herself. Thrusting him back into the house, she stood with her back against the door and locked as many bolts as she could. Two? That was all they had? Did they want thieves to come and ransack their house?  
  
“Gosalyn, what’s going on?” Honker persisted.  
  
“Steelbeak followed me and Dad home and Dad told me to run, so I came here,” she said, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder through the front window. “Why do you have such big living room windows?”  
  
She flung the drapes closed.  
  
“You ran away from Steelbeak. And came here.”  
  
“I just said that, yes,” she snapped.  
  
“What if he follows you here?” he said.  
  
“He won’t,” she said. “And if he does, we can always hide out in Audubon Bay. Are you listening to me? We have a serious situation here and you’re staring at me like I have two heads.”  
  
“But why was Steelbeak following you in the first place?” he persisted, drawing her away with difficulty from the windows and the front door. She huffed, digging her sneakers into the rug.  
  
“I don’t know, something stupid I said about Darkwing Duck being my father right before I thwarted his plans,” she said. “Does it really matter?”  
  
“He knows your father’s secret identity,” he said. “This is bad. This is very bad. I think you’re underestimating the situation, Gos.”  
  
“We need more information on Steelbeak than what Dad knows,” she announced, ignoring her best friend. She grabbed Honker by the lapels of his shirt and hauled him upstairs toward his room and the computer. “SHUSH has to have something. And I know Dad’s secret security codes.”  
  
“I don’t think you should be poking around in there…” he said and she huffed.  
  
“Are you going to help me or not?” she asked.  
  
“I’ll help you, of course,” he hurried to add and she nodded, not listening to anything else he said. They arrived in his room, shut the door in case Honker’s brother or his parents decided to intrude, and she booted up the computer. She rolled her eyes at its decrepitness.  
  
“Jeez, Honker, have you gotten a new computer since they came out with Beanie Babies?” she complained. It was taking a good five minutes to boot.  
  
“They were having a sale…” he protested.  
  
“When? Back in 2000?” she huffed. The screen popped up--Windows 2000. “You really are living in the stone age. This thing is 13 years old, at least.”  
  
“I, well…” he didn’t have a defense for her and she rolled her eyes. At least he’d had enough foresight to install another web browser besides IE, but with how old the computer was, this was going to take forever to load. She cast an anxious glance through his window as if she could see past several blocks to her father.  
  
“I hope Dad’s okay…” she said. She pulled out her phone. “I bet the tech in this is five times faster than that at least. On a bad day.”  
  
“There it goes,” Honker said and Gosalyn looked up. Perhaps she ought to be grateful the Muddlefoots didn’t have dial-up. Sheesh.  
  
It took her another five minutes to get into SHUSH’s systems, which were thankfully so antiquated that the computer didn’t struggle to load them. She entered Darkwing’s credentials and waited. But the file on Steelbeak was gone. There wasn’t even a trace of where it’d been.  
  
Since she had administrative authority as Darkwing, she scanned the logs. Someone had pulled Steelbeak’s file hours earlier, someone whose IP address was located in Duckburg. McDuck Manor, to be exact. Gosalyn cursed.  
  
“Where did you learn that word?” Honker asked, impressed.  
  
“Dad, when he drives,” she said with a shrug. The screen flickered and then the computer died.  
  
“No, no!” she cried. “Quick, reboot it!”  
  
Honker tried several times and nothing happened. “Gosalyn, I think it’s dead. Someone fried it.”  
  
“Someone doesn’t want us poking around in SHUSH’s files, even as Darkwing Duck,” Honker observed.  
  
“How did they know we weren’t really him?” she asked. “And who lives in McDuck Manor?”  
  
“Besides Scrooge McDuck, the richest duck on the planet?” Honker said. Gosalyn gave him a dark look.  
  
“Besides him. He’s old. He wouldn’t be using the internet,” she said dismissively. “Someone else is in there and they’re mucking it up. We should find out who.”  
  
“What do you suppose we should do?”  
  
“Go there ourselves,” she said.  
  
“We can’t just up and leave town,” he protested.  
  
“You have any better ideas?” she countered. She looked pointedly at Honker’s fried desktop.  
  
“Well, no…” he admitted, sheepish. “But, Gos, even supposing we get there and find McDuck Manor, who’s to say anyone’s going to let us in?”  
  
“Leave that to me,” she said firmly. “I have an idea.”  
  
Actually, no, she didn’t, but she figured she could make it up as she went along. That was how the best heroes worked, right? Improvisation. Her heart thudded. Speaking of heroes...her father. She still had no idea how he was.  
  
“But we need to check on Dad before we go,” she said. The guilt would eat her alive otherwise.  
  
“He’s not going to let us leave either.”  
  
“Leave Dad to me,” she said. “I’ll bring him around to our point of view.”  
  
(A half hour later)  
  
“Absolutely not, Gosalyn,” Drake Mallard snapped. Aside from a few singed spots on his shirt, he looked intact. He was, however, not in a good mood. Perhaps it came from being shot at by a giant chicken.  
  
“But, Dad...if someone else wants to know about Steelbeak, then there’s gotta be a good reason,” she said. They’d reached their house now without any difficulty; Drake had drawn him off, but only because his real target was Gosalyn. That might’ve been why her father was a bit touchy.  
  
“What if you came with us?” she suggested. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. We could go there for the weekend and come back in time for school on Monday.”  
  
She half expected him to refuse out of general principle. Instead, he looked thoughtful, which she took as a good sign.  
  
“All right,” he said after a minute’s deliberation. She cheered and he narrowed his eyes.  
  
“But you can’t go wandering off on your own,” he warned. “We might be safer in Duckburg than Saint Canard, at least for a while. With Gizmoduck.”  
  
He said this last sarcastically and she smirked. Her father really hated Gizmoduck. He considered him a braggart goody-two shoes, which was weird because she was pretty sure the two had never met in person. Maybe he was basing it off the Gizmoduck type character that had appeared in the Darkwing TV show his father had starred in.  
  
“So we can go?” she said and batted her eyelashes.  
  
“We can go,” he agreed and then looked at Honker. “But he has to get permission from his parents first. We’ll say...we’re visiting friends. I hear there’s a cheap pilot there who might be able to fix the Thunderquack without too much trouble.”  
  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cried and hugged him. He winced.  
  
“Got a little battered by Steelbeak,” he said. “And don’t thank me yet. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”  
  
\-----  
  
“The files aren’t just gone, they’ve been removed from the server without a trace,” Louie said, frustrated. “I went back online to see if I could access them and sure, I got into SHUSH without a problem, but your mom’s file, as well as another villain’s, have both been pulled. I’m guessing it was the file linked to your mom’s, but since I don’t know what that was…”  
  
He grimaced. “You ever think maybe your granny really doesn’t want you poking around in this?”  
  
Webby grimaced. They’d booked a silent study room so she could talk to Louie without a problem, but even though the closed door, they were getting strange looks. Huey was staring down at his book and paging through it. Dewey had borrowed a laptop loaded up with old newspaper articles and Lena was examining old periodicals, none of which seemed pertinent. She looked as frustrated as Louie sounded.  
  
“I can try to run through the website’s history, but, honestly, Webby, if it’s your grandmother, I don’t think we’re going to find anything through the internet,” he said and growled. “I can’t believe the internet let me down.”  
  
“That’s where books come in,” Huey said. She’d put Louie on speaker, which, come to think of it, was probably why patrons passing by were giving them dirty looks.  
  
“Or the newspaper,” Dewey said and pushed the laptop around so they could all see. “There’s an old charity gala that was held near Glomgold’s mansion and here’s your mom, Webby...and someone named Steelbeak.”  
  
“Was that the villain that was missing?” Webby asked Louie.  
  
“I…” He paused. “You know, it might’ve been. I wish I’d taken screenshots of this before someone wrecked my hard drive.”  
  
“Wouldn’t the screenshots have been wrecked too?” Huey pointed out.  
  
“Shut up,” Louie grumbled.  
  
“Check this out,” Dewey said, ignoring his brothers. “The 2006 Charity Gala event, hosted by Flintheart Glomgold, brought together the elite, the best and the brightest, not to mention those with the biggest wallets. Pictured here is Wren Beakley, along with a mysterious person known only as Steelbeak, and…”  
  
Dewey trailed off. “You don’t really care who else was there, do you?”  
  
His eyes scanned the picture. “Uncle Scrooge was there.”  
  
“What?!” Huey and Webby lunged forward, both of them forgetting that Dewey could enlarge the image. He did so and pointed to Scrooge in the background.  
  
“He was there the night of the gala, the night that puts your mom with Steelbeak,” Dewey said. “And the only reason this wasn’t taken down was because all of the newspaper articles were scanned and are only available on the library’s internet.”  
  
“So they’re on an intranet…” Louie mused. “Huh. Weird. I’m going to go back to glaring at my computer. I’ll catch you later.”  
  
He hung up and Webby stared at the unlikely duo of her mother and the man Granny didn’t want her to know about. He looked smug as he held onto Wren’s waist and Webby couldn’t help but notice her mother had a slightly glazed look to her eyes. That couldn’t be...no. This was a red herring.  
  
“Did your grandmother mention anything about your mom’s love life?” Dewey asked.  
  
“No…” Webby said. Then again, her grandmother hadn’t mentioned anything about her mother in general. She had a sickening feeling that if this was what had happened, then perhaps there was a good reason her mother had called her a mistake.  
  
“She looks like someone slipped her a mickey,” Lena commented. The others looked at her and she groaned. “You live such sheltered lives. A roofie? No? Seriously?  
  
  
“He drugged her.”  
  
“How do you know about all this stuff?” Huey asked, frowning.  
  
“Someone tried to do that to me in Paris,” Lena said and grimaced. “One of the few times it was good Magica was behind me. Literally. Then again, I don’t think that guy survived to sunrise the next day…”  
  
“Uh…” Huey wisely left that alone.  
  
“Do you really think he did?” Webby asked, ignoring Lena’s commentary for the time being.  
  
“Either that or she’s really wasted,” Lena said. She squeezed Webby’s shoulder. “It does kinda explain her reaction to you in the pond.”  
  
“I want to go back there…” she said. “I need to talk to her again.”  
  
“You know…” Lena said. “Launchpad might not take us to the pond, but the other one might. The one from the mirror.”  
  
“Why would he be more willing to do it than our Launchpad?” Dewey asked.  
  
“Because I bet they’ve never been,” Lena continued. “If we can convince the other group to go with us…”  
  
“I don’t know,” Huey said. “I don’t think Webby should try talking to her mom again. It was bad enough last time.”  
  
Webby glowered at him.  
  
“And if it only shows that universe’s loved ones, it’s not going to show Webby’s mom,” Huey added and Lena glared.  
  
“All right, fine, shoot me down,” Lena said. “I’m out of ideas.”  
  
“Can you print the picture?” Webby asked Dewey, who nodded.  
  
She hoped that Steelbeak wasn’t her father. True, she knew next to nothing about her mother’s liaisons...but if he was her father, then...a chill ran through her. She needed to know more about him, although every instinct in her body was screaming to stay away.  
  
Huey and Lena were studying the picture.  
  
“It’d be safer to return to that pond than chase after him, pink,” Lena commented. “I’ve never heard of him, but he seems like Aunt Magica’s type. Sociopath.”  
  
“Lena’s right,” Huey said, frowning. “He really doesn’t look like the type of guy you should mess with.”  
  
“Or the type of guy who likes kids,” Dewey commented, returning to produce the black and white picture from the newspaper. There was a sinister gleam in Steelbeak’s eyes, Webby noticed, and she suppressed another shudder.  
  
“Let this one go,” Lena advised, squeezing Webby’s shoulder. Webby did her best to ignore the way her stomach swooped when she touched her.  
  
Webby grimaced. She wanted to, she did, but she couldn’t. Yet when she glanced over at the boys and Lena, they wore identical looks and all were shaking their heads.  
  
“I can’t,” she protested, shaking her head too. “I promise I won’t go near him, but I still need to know more.”  
  
“I know you’re badass and you can take care of yourself,” Dewey began, “but...you could really get hurt if you tangle with this guy. You don’t even know how your mother died.”  
  
A chill went through her and she gazed at the picture anew. What if Dewey was right? What if Steelbeak had something to do with her mother’s death? Her heart was in her throat.  
  
“We have to talk to Granny,” she decided. “Now that we know this much, she has to tell us more.”  
  
“She doesn’t have to tell us anything,” Lena reminded her.  
  
She shook her head again, this time out of frustration rather than refuting Lena’s point. “There has to be something we can do. Other than letting it rest.”  
  
“When we went looking for Mom, we didn’t know if she’d gotten mixed up with someone like Steelbeak,” Dewey pointed out. “That was different.’  
  
“Webby…” Huey said and squeezed her shoulder. Was this one mystery she needed to relinquish? Her head said “no”, but her gut told her “yes”. She cast a sad gaze at the laptop and then at the picture Dewey had printed.  
  
“I still want to talk to Granny,” she said. “If she’ll talk to me.”  
  
The others looked relieved. She hadn’t said she was dropping this, because it felt like someone was wrenching something away from her, but...she didn’t need to go borrowing trouble, either. She folded up the picture and tucked it into her skirt pocket. Eyes downcast, she followed the others out and Dewey returned the laptop.  
  
“Hey,” Dewey said gently. “Not all mysteries have to be solved.”  
  
“But we’re so close…” she said, swallowing past a lump in her throat.  
  
“It’s too dangerous,” Huey said as they walked up the stairs, out of the multimedia section, and out of the library.  
  
“I know…”  
  
“There’s a ‘but’ in there,” Lena said and squeezed her other shoulder. “We don’t have to give up, but we can’t go poking around where people’ll notice.”  
  
“What did you have in mind?” Webby asked, lifting her head.  
  
“Dunno. Yet.” Lena smiled mysteriously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby talks to her grandmother about her revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sick when I wrote this, so it's a short chapter this time.

Webby knocked on her grandmother’s door. She half-expected her not to respond. Further conversation with Louie cemented what she’d already suspected--her grandmother must’ve been the one to pull the files. It was too late, though. Webby already knew something, even if it wasn’t the extent she wanted. She wrung her hands, still feeling like she was misbehaving.

 

The boys had promised they’d be with her and Lena had too, but they thought this might be better done with her alone, so as to avoid a worse confrontation. The boys had gone to talk to Uncle Scrooge, anyway, and Lena was waiting in her room so they could discuss both conversations together later. Webby fingered her friendship bracelet as she waited. Was it taking her grandmother an inordinately long time to answer the door or was she paranoid?

 

“Webbigail,” her grandmother intoned, opening the door. Webby shivered; she’d had a violent scenario play out in her head in the minute that had passed between her knocking and her grandmother answering.

 

Mrs. Beakley was frowning at her.

 

“You know what we were up to, don’t you?” she asked.

 

“You might as well come in,” Mrs. Beakley sighed, opening the door wider to permit her granddaughter access. Webby slid inside; her grandmother’s room was austere, with no hints of personal effects. Webby knew she kept them all locked up in a treasure chest at the foot of her bed. The chest was titanium and required a thumbprint, eye scan, and a bit of blood. Needless to say, Webby had never gotten inside.

 

Her grandmother had a four poster bed, a dresser, a bookcase filled with books, some of which Webby suspected weren’t what they appeared to be, and a laptop which was open to SHUSH HQ. That wasn’t a mistake. Betina Beakley did very few things by mistake. Webby felt the computer screen like a physical creature staring at her accusingly and she lowered her head.

 

“How long have you known?” she asked.

 

“Since Louie attempted to ransack the SHUSH HQ website,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Even with redirects and a VPN, he forgot to turn it on before searching the site. The split second before he activated it, the IP address showed McDuck Manor.”

 

“So...you know what we’ve been up to…” Webby said, staring at her feet. Mrs. Beakley sighed and scooped her up, placing her on the bed. She sat beside her.

 

“I hadn’t planned on telling you any of this, but it seems you’ve forced my hand,” she said. “How much do you know?”

 

“I know my mom was a spy who worked for SHUSH and that Steelbeak might be my father…” she said and her grandmother cringed.

 

“I don’t want you contacting Steelbeak,” she said. “Under any circumstances. I don’t know how your mother died...but it’s entirely possible he had a hand in it.”

 

Mrs. Beakley was having a hard time meeting Webby’s gaze and she pulled out a handkerchief. “I didn’t even know your mother was dead until we found that pond.”

 

“Oh…” she said. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. She frowned at the floor and Mrs. Beakley pulled her against her. She stroked her hair.

 

“I don’t know…” she began and then had to stop, choked up. “I don’t know...how long after you hatched that she died…”

 

Webby turned around and hugged her grandmother. It was rare to see her emotional and even rarer to witness her undone. For a few minutes, neither one spoke. Webby remembered her mother’s reflection in the pond; her grandmother hadn’t had a chance to speak with her before Webby had freaked out. To be fair, being called a mistake wasn’t the first thing you wanted to hear out of your mother on a first meeting.

 

When she’d mastered herself, she spoke again.

 

“Your mother and I seldom saw eye to eye,” Mrs. Beakley continued. “She always wanted to grow up fast and when I refused to indulge her, she would rebel. She thought she was adult enough to handle Steelbeak on her first mission with SHUSH.”

 

She frowned and Webby wasn’t sure whether she was searching for a way to say it or whether she wanted to say it at all. Webby waited; after all, she’d gone this long without her grandmother telling her about her mother. She could wait a few more minutes. The urgency had vanished, at least for now. Still, she didn’t know how much she’d tell her.

 

“Steelbeak can be rather...persuasive,” she started. “He has a certain allure that others find irresistible. And when that doesn’t work, he has alternate ways to get what he wants.

 

“He wanted your mother.”

 

Webby wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. Her heart thudded and she felt like she was on a car inexorably rushing toward a cliff. Biting the inside of her cheek, she gazed steadfastly at her grandmother.

 

“Did she want him?” Webby asked and the words fell like weights between them.

 

Mrs. Beakley didn’t answer, which was response enough. Webby’s stomach clenched and she thought she might be sick.

 

“Don’t ever doubt that you were wanted, no matter what,” her grandmother said fiercely. “Your mother panicked and likely did so again upon spying you in the pond. She wasn’t ready for a child, regardless. It doesn’t matter the particulars of your existence, Webbigail. What matters is that you’re here and that you’re wanted and loved by everyone in this manor, except perhaps Duckworth, but no one really cares about him.”

 

It was meant to cheer her up, she knew, but Webby’s head was spinning. She had to wonder whether the other Webby, Webby 2, had come about in the same manner. True, Webby 2’s grandmother hadn’t been a spy in SHUSH. Webby had a sudden desire to hug her dolly and go hide somewhere. It was unlike her. Her lower beak trembled and she clenched her beak shut.

 

“You. Are. Wanted,” Mrs. Beakley repeated and hugged her tightly. “This is why I didn’t want you to know. I was afraid it would upset you. You are wanted. You are loved. Nothing else matters.”

 

She held her out at arm’s length. “I want you to promise me you won’t go looking for Steelbeak.”

 

“I...I promise…” Webby said faintly. Mrs. Beakley hugged her again.

 

“And I know the boys went to talk to Mr. McDuck,” Mrs. Beakley said in a tone of disapproval. “Am I to assume you left no stone unturned in your search regarding your mother?”

 

“We didn’t find much,” she admitted and took out the picture Dewey had given her. Mrs. Beakley scowled at it, her gaze locked onto Steelbeak.

 

“He even had his hands on her in the picture,” she said disapprovingly. “I wish Wren had spoken to me...I wish we could talk to her again.”

 

“You don’t think Uncle Scrooge would agree to another trip, do you?” she asked, unable to suppress the hopefulness in her voice.

 

“I’ll talk with him,” she assured her. Giving her one last hug, they rose from the bed. Webby had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it seemed that her mother was right and she hated to think she was the product of such an unpleasant coupling. On the other...her grandmother was right. Everyone here loved and cared for her. No one wanted to see her miserable, even Duckworth.

 

The person she wanted to speak with after this was Lena. She wasn’t sure how the boys would respond. Plus...she blinked, remembering belatedly about Della Duck.

 

“Did Scrooge find anything out about his niece?” she asked.

 

“Not yet,” she said. “But he’s persistent if nothing else. I expect something will come out of this, sooner or later.”

 

Webby nodded, casting the locked chest one last look before leaving the room. Her heart thudded dully and she wondered whether her mother would’ve said more if she’d had the chance. They needed to return to that pond, but they couldn’t unless Scrooge agreed. There was no possible information for him there, though. Della was still alive and that had been the whole reason they’d gone.

 

She hugged herself and repeated her grandmother’s words in her head. The problem was that she wasn’t sure which side held more weight. Was it that Steelbeak had taken advantage of her mother? Or that regardless of how she’d come about, she belonged here?

 

With her head down, she walked back to her room. Lena was hanging around outside of her own and trotted up to her. She matched Webby’s pace and didn’t speak. It was like she understood without Webby saying what had happened.

 

“Hey,” Lena said gently and hugged her. “It doesn’t matter, whatever she said, okay? Maybe the boys were right. Maybe you should let it go.”

 

Webby nodded, gaze still fixed on the floor.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she said.

 

Shaking her head, she managed to reach her room without looking up once. Although she still had the tingling feeling from hugging Lena, it felt subdued right now. Or perhaps that was just her. Part of her would very much like to hide out in her room under the covers and hug her doll. And maybe pretend today had never happened.

 

“Webby,” Lena said and tilted her head to look up at her. “I’m terrible at the comforting stuff, but I’ll try anyway.

 

“You have an amazing family, related to you or not. Okay, so your mom wasn’t perfect. And I don’t know what happened with your dad, but...everyone around you is still amazing, no matter what. We all have that one relative we wish would fall into an active volcano.”

 

Despite herself, Webby’s beak curved into a small smile. “I don’t want my mom to fall into an active volcano, dead or not.”

 

“It’s just an example,” Lena said with a shrug.

 

“My dad is Steelbeak,” Webby said quietly. “And he...he took advantage of my mom.”

 

Lena frowned. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

Lena hugged her.

 

“Wanna watch something to take your mind off it?” Lena suggested. “We could watch Kill Bill 2. Or another violent movie.”

 

“I guess…” she said. The doll pinned to her board was calling her and she hated the feeling of regressing to a point where she needed it.

 

“Makeovers?” Lena suggested. “C’mon. There has to be something you want to do now. We could do another sleepover since I’m living here anyway.”

 

She shook her head. Her throat was tight. “I just wanna be alone for a little while. I’ll be okay.”

 

Lena frowned but didn’t push. “Hit me up when you’re ready to talk.”

 

Webby nodded and slipped into her room. She shut the door behind her, locked it, and collapsed against the door. When she was sure Lena had disappeared out of earshot, she burst into tears.

 

\-----  
  
  
  
“Gyro thinks it’s possible that the ship crashed on the moon,” Scrooge remarked. He’d pulled out a few chairs for his grand-nephews. “And since we saw in the pond that Della wasn’t there, it’s entirely possible she survived the crash and is somewhere on the moon, perhaps on the dark side where communications don’t work.”

 

“If I can convince those rotten vultures to give it a go, I might be able to mount another rescue operation, this time centered on the dark side of the moon.”

 

“You really think Mom’s out there?” Huey said. “I mean, the odds that she’s there--”

 

“Aye, I know, lad,” he said. “But this is the first lead we’ve had in years and I intend to follow it.”

 

The boys were silent, mulling this over. He knew Huey was cautious and afraid to be too optimistic; Dewey had already thrown his lot in with this new as-yet uncreated expedition; and Louie was frowning, thinking of something. Probably the monetary cost and whether he had enough to support another expedition. He wasn’t a trillionaire anymore, but, yes, he could support one more go. This was too important to leave to chance. She could be waiting for them, could have been waiting for a very long time for rescue.

 

Someone knocked on the door and Huey rushed to open it. Mrs. Beakley stood on the other side. She regarded the triplets and then him.

 

“We have to discuss what happened earlier,” she said and then shot the boys a warning look. “In private.”

 

“If this is about Webby--” Dewey began and Mrs. Beakley’s glower silenced him. He tried again. “We know she’s upset--”

 

“I’ll talk to you later, lads,” Scrooge said and, although they groused, they filed out. He knew they resented being left out of an “adult” conversation, but this concerned Wren and Webby. He didn’t know how much Webbigail had unearthed about her mother, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t necessarily child-friendly.

 

Once they had left, she shut the door behind her and took a seat that one of the boys had vacated.

 

“We want to return to the pond,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Webby and I. You don’t have to come, Mr. McDuck, but Webbigail deserves a chance to speak with her mother at length.”

 

“I thought you were trying to prevent that,” he said, frowning. “You rushed us out of there rather quickly.”

 

“The situation has changed,” she said and then frowned too. “She knows about her father. She needs to hear Wren’s side of the story.”

 

He was silent for a moment. While he knew this might not be good for Webby’s psyche, Mrs. Beakley was Webby’s guardian, not him. Moreover, he had gained the information he needed from the pond. There was no need for him to return, but he could afford to let Launchpad fly the two there while he was otherwise occupied.

 

“All right,” he said. “If you think she can handle it.”

 

“I do,” she said.

 

“I’ll tell Launchpad to get the Sunchaser ready in the morning,” he said. “Be careful, both of you.”

 

“We will,” she responded. He remained concerned about whether Webbigail could actually handle such a mature conversation, but, again, he wasn’t her guardian. And she did deserve to hear more than she had with someone to help steer the conversation. Plus, Mrs. Beakley needed closure.

 

As for him, he needed to construct a feasible argument for resuming the search when he knew that his accountants had strenuous and damnably valid reasons for not permitting it. Money-wise, it was a bad gamble. But they didn’t understand. They didn’t know how much Della mattered to him or, if they did, they didn’t care. Hearing she was alive had given him hope but had also opened up a raw wound.

 

Had he even told Donald? He couldn’t remember. It’d been so long, the entire day. It had to be getting late. Chancing a look out the window, he grimaced. Yes, it was late and he’d kept the boys up past their bedtime. Besides, he could use some rest too. He wasn’t as young and spry as he’d once been.

 

He stifled a yawn and let Mrs. Beakley handle the children. In the morning, he could create a rousing speech or at least remind the accountants who was paying their fees. He owned McDuck Enterprises. They answered to him. Yes, he’d nearly bankrupted himself once trying and failing to retrieve Della. But this time was different. This time, he wouldn’t fail.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steelbeak makes his move and Webby and Mrs. Beakley have another conversation with Wren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are rather unsettled around here, so I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update in the future. I'm warning you now in case the schedule ends up getting thrown off. Things are insane.

Steelbeak hadn’t been idle during the night, even if his Eggheads had insisted on sleeping. He’d narrowed down Darkwing Duck’s residential area to a few blocks but couldn’t triangulate any further. Darkwing hadn’t returned to his house; he’d gone to his hideout, which was both smart and incredibly irritating. He’d taken Gosalyn, too. Damn him for knowing his next move.  
  
There was still the matter of what to do about Duckburg. He wanted to know what someone in McDuck Manor wanted with him and the Eggheads had only managed to ascertain that the person who had accessed SHUSH HQ had suffered a Trojan Horse attack not long after. It was almost like the attack had been launched by someone who wanted to keep them from finding him and vice versa.  
  
What he really wanted to do was pay McDuck Manor a nice little visit with so much weaponry that he could blow the roof off. He doubted he’d be able to get that close. Scrooge McDuck was paranoid (with good reason) over his fortune and wasn’t liable to let anyone inside. Of course, if Steelbeak brought enough artillery, maybe he could just blast his way in. Blow the entrance gates and the security to kingdom come and figure out who had been pecking away at him.  
  
He knew it wasn’t Scrooge. His money was on the little brats who now lived with him. Or least near him. Steelbeak hadn’t been able to verify that the kids stayed in the manor. His Eggheads were failing him at an alarming rate. He might have to replace them with someone competent if they kept this up.  
  
So he’d have to at least visit Duckburg and figure out what was going on and why someone was dredging up his old files. And he’d have to bring enough weaponry to devastate a small country. He could manage that.  
  
Hmm, when had he last been in Duckburg? Hadn’t it been twelve years ago, at that stupid gala Flintheart Glomgold had hosted? Yes, he remembered. Flintheart Glomgold, Scrooge McDuck...and Wren Beakley.  
  
He double-checked the footage from the last magical attack on Duckburg courtesy of Magica de Spell. He spied the three brats he’d thought about earlier, Scrooge’s great-nephews, and a girl. The girl’s features stopped him. He’d never paid much attention to Scrooge’s brats, because they weren’t important. They had nothing to do with his enterprise. Gosalyn and, more importantly, her father Darkwing Duck, were a much greater concern.  
  
But...this girl. She looked like Wren. He remembered Wren, too, because he’d let her slip through his fingers once. She was the rare SHUSH agent he hadn’t killed upon first meeting her and discovering her identity. Maybe he’d been a little drunk too, to let her go without much of a fight. His beak curved. Well, not _that_  kind of fight.  
  
Could she be Wren’s daughter? Did it matter if she was?  
  
He wasn’t sure. He filed that away for future reference, though. While he had nothing against her mother, not anymore, the girl could be a good chip to play if he came afoul of Mrs. Beakley. He was aware she lived in McDuck Manor and she would be formidable in terms of security herself. After all, if she was the girl’s grandmother, then Mrs. Beakley would be distressed if anything happened to her.  
  
But that was projecting too far for now. It was always good to plan ahead, but if you planned too far ahead, you got wrapped up in the details. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Instead, he eyed the girl curiously. Something was nagging him about her and he didn’t know what. It felt important.  
  
Shaking his head at himself for getting preoccupied with a child, he closed the screen out. Darkwing Duck’s hideout, wherever that was, was out of the question. He didn’t have the time to figure out where the duck was hiding with his daughter. Steelbeak booked a hotel room in Duckburg and close enough to McDuck Manor that he wouldn’t have to do much traveling.  
  
He smirked as he stretched, listening to his joints pop. He could take a break for a few hours, he guessed, and then travel across the bridge to Duckburg after some shut-eye. He wanted to be alert and trigger happy when he brought his arsenal to bear against McDuck Manor.  
  
And if he accidentally offed one of the kids, oh well. They deserved it for poking their beaks where they didn’t belong.  
  
\-----  
  
The trip back to the pond was uneventful. Webby was consumed with her mother’s visage and voice. The boys had been split between going with her and investigating their mother. In the end, it wound up being her and her grandmother, with the boys promising they’d answer if she called. Webby didn’t blame them for not coming along, but it was lonely without them.  
  
Her grandmother wasn’t in a talkative mood and, to be honest, Webby wasn’t either. Dread filled the bottom of her stomach as she worried what her mother might say. Uncle Scrooge wasn’t entirely certain how the pond worked, whether it told someone what they expected to hear or the truth. Webby was leaning toward a mixture of both.  
  
Launchpad wasn’t attempting any ridiculously stupid stunts today, which was unusual for him. Of course, he was flying at a dangerously fast speed and occasionally doing loop de loops, but Webby didn’t count that. It wasn’t ridiculous or stupid unless he crashed the Sunchaser and left them stranded.  
  
It took them half a day to reach the pond and then another few hours of ascent to reach the cavern. Webby was full of foreboding as they entered and her grandmother put her hand on her shoulder. She would be strong. She wouldn’t need her granny to help her through this. Webbigail Vanderquack wasn’t a coward.  
  
Nonetheless, her tail was stiff, her shoulders tight, and her jaw clenched as she approached the pond. Within a few seconds, her mother’s face materialized and Webby steeled herself for the worst. There her mother was, with that jagged scar that had taken out her right eye and her beak clenched too. Webby knelt at the pond’s edge; it was warm here, after being in the cold climbing up.  
  
Her grandmother stood back, but not out of earshot. Mrs. Beakley hadn’t had a chance to speak with Wren before this and if things went better than last time, she should be able to now.  
  
“Mom?” Webby said softly. Her lower beak quivered and she clenched it tight again. She would not cry. She would not.  
  
“Mom...I know about you and Steelbeak,” she said and her mother flinched. “And...I think I know why you said what you did. You didn’t want me to find out, did you?”  
  
Her mother stared at her sadly. “I shouldn’t have been so brusque with you. I thought maybe if I put you off the trail, you wouldn’t sniff for further clues. Looks like you take after me.”  
  
“So you didn’t mean to make her cry?” her grandmother huffed.  
  
“Mother,” Wren said coldly and then glanced at Webby again. “I’m sorry. It gets kinda...irritating to be surrounded by wailing spirits all the time. I’ve been left alone with my thoughts for so long that I didn’t realize you were actually here until you’d left. I thought you were just figments of my imagination.”  
  
“You’re trapped here?” Webby asked and her mother nodded. She could only see her mother from the neck up.  
  
“Until my ‘mortal business’ is done, whatever that means,” she said and rolled her eyes. She cocked her head. “Why did you return? I wasn’t exactly inviting.”  
  
“I wanted to know the truth,” Webby said. “About how you died. About...Steelbeak. And everything.”  
  
“How much does she know about Steelbeak, Mother?” Wren asked stiffly.  
  
“She knows about the night in question,” Mrs. Beakley said. Either old age or pride prevented her from sitting on her knees in front of the pond. It might’ve been a combination of both.  
  
“Oh...oh.”  
  
Wren said nothing for a few minutes and Webby’s eyes filled with tears that she determinedly wiped away. Wren sighed.  
  
“Then she knows.”  
  
“She does,” Mrs. Beakley said. “I had rather she didn’t, but she pressed the issue. Her and the boys.”  
  
“Boys?” Wren asked, distracted. “What boys?”  
  
“Mr. McDuck’s grand-nephews. Della’s children.”  
  
“Della had children...huh. I never thought I’d see her settle down,” Wren said, offhanded.  
  
“She didn’t,” Webby said in a feeble voice. “She flew off in a spaceship and she’s been gone for over ten years.”  
  
Wren laughed humorlessly. “We would’ve made great parents, Della and I. I did come back, you know...oh, well, you wouldn’t know. The night you hatched. I was at the gates. But I couldn’t bring myself to come in.”  
  
She managed a weak smile. “Besides, you didn’t need me. I’m sure your grandmother has taught you everything you needed to know and then some.”  
  
“You didn’t mean to be cruel earlier?” Webby burst out and felt ashamed of herself. It wasn’t like she had a time frame that she had to be back by, but she also didn’t want to keep Launchpad waiting forever either. He didn’t have an infinite amount of gas. She shouldn’t waste time asking stupid questions.  
  
“I acted without thinking,” Wren said. “I’m surprisingly good at that. I’m sure your grandmother would’ve told you all about that--if she told you about me at all. It’s okay, you know. I don’t hold it against her. I wasn’t a great daughter. Or a great spy.”  
  
Again that bitter laugh. “Steelbeak could attest to that last bit.”  
  
“What happened to you?” Webby asked. She was hugging herself again and this time, with a soft groan, her grandmother sank down on the ground next to her to hold her.  
  
“Mother, does Steelbeak know about her?” Wren asked and her voice was high, panicked. “Please tell me he has no idea she exists.”  
  
“I kept her locked up in the mansion for ten years,” her grandmother informed her. “She was not permitted access to the outside world except under my tutelage. He knows nothing of her. I am confident of that.”  
  
“You kept her locked up?” Wren stared, aghast. “Mother, did this child have anything _resembling_  a normal childhood?”  
  
“Of course she did. I ensured she had the proper amount of playtime and educational opportunities, as well as books and very rarely, television and movies,” she said. “It’s not like I deprived her.”  
  
“Mother, I don’t have a head and you’re still somehow giving me a headache.”  
  
“You lost your right to any input on Webbigail’s life when you decided to abandon her egg,” Mrs. Beakley said coldly. “I did what I thought was right. That was what you said you wanted. It’s a little late for regrets, Wren.”  
  
“And I thought my childhood was bad,” Wren scoffed. She studied Webby closely. “You wanted to know how I died?”  
  
Webby nodded, throat tight, feeling like there was a subtext here she wasn’t picking up on. What was so wrong with growing up in the mansion? She’d had plenty of places to explore and things to occupy her time. Of course, she’d been terribly lonely and she hadn’t had a family other than her granny. Was that what her mother was talking about?  
  
“Webbigail...I don’t even know how I died. There was an explosion is about all I know. And then I wound up here,” Wren said with a thin smile. “And I’ve been here ever since. Did I mention how irritating this all is?”  
  
“Once or twice,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “How long ago was this?”  
  
“Time has no meaning anymore, so you’ll forgive me if I’m vague on the details,” Wren snapped back.  
  
“But you think Steelbeak did it?” Webby pressed and Wren nodded.  
  
“I can’t prove anything,” she said. She stared at Webby again and chewed the bottom part of her beak.  
  
“Maybe I should’ve come back,” she said. “But I didn’t think you needed me. And I was right, wasn’t I? About most of it. So I’m not entirely sure why you’re still here. Was there something else you needed?”  
  
Webby wasn’t sure what she’d expected, although perhaps her mother to welcome her back with figuratively open arms. Her mother was studying her as if taking mental notes, but she wasn’t peppering her with questions about her life. In fact, Webby didn’t know how much interest her mother even had in her life. Maybe it was hard to care about anything outside of yourself when you’re dead.  
  
“Would you mind waiting, dear?” Mrs. Beakley asked, indicating that Webby should take a few steps back, out of earshot, for her grandmother and mother to talk in private. She inched away, unable to quash the disappointment. It wasn’t like her mother could take an active role in her life, but she’d expected more than this.  
  
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. Lena had texted her. She was still having problems with walking, although she’d almost convinced them she could come along until she’d tripped over nothing. Lena was still vexed about that.  
  
Webby texted her back, though she was slow and inexperienced. She’d seen how adroit Louie and Lena could be on messenger, but Webby didn’t have the reflexes for that. Lena shot off four messages to Webby’s one. Of course, Webby’s tended to be longer anyway.  
  
After about five minutes, Mrs. Beakley rose to her feet and came over to Webby. Wordlessly, she hugged her and Webby hugged her back. Her throat was tight and she stowed her phone back in her skirt pocket.  
  
“Let’s go,” she said. “Your mother said she’ll be here whenever you need her, though she strongly implied she’d rather you didn’t need her.”  
  
Webby nodded, not trusting herself to speak. They descended the mountain again and, this time, Webby ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks. Family was about the people you chose to let in, who loved you and who you loved. It wasn’t who you were related to biologically, because she wasn’t related to the boys and she loved them just the same. She wasn’t related to Lena either and she cared for her, though not quite in the same way as the boys. (Just like the tears, she ignored the butterflies that erupted when she thought about Lena).  
  
“So, uh, how was it? Or this one of those things I’m not supposed to ask about?” Launchpad said when he picked them up.  
  
“The latter,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Concentrate on your piloting and not getting us killed, thank you.”  
  
You couldn’t will someone to care. But even so...Webby let herself be a child, however briefly, and let her grandmother hold her while she cried out her disappointment and dismay over her parents.  
  
\----  
  
“We can’t hide out here forever, Dad,” Gosalyn complained. “I thought you said we were going to Duckburg.”  
  
“And we are,” Darkwing said. “Just as soon as I figure out what’s wrong with the Thunderquack.”  
  
He glowered at the plane and waved a wrench at it threateningly. Gosalyn watched, arms folded across her chest, unamused. He ignored her and approached the plane like one might a skittish animal. Rolling her eyes, she stepped over to where Honker was waiting, looking something up on Darkwing’s computer. It had better security, but she was allowed to use it, which meant it trumped anything Honker could’ve produced.  
  
She was trying again to access FOWL information through SHUSH. She didn’t get locked out this time, which she considered a plus, but she also wasn’t gaining any traction. Steelbeak’s data had been pulled, as well as information about a female agent Gosalyn had noted briefly before. Since agents came and went with SHUSH as often as the garbage went out, she wasn’t concerned with that. She’d grown inured to agents dying. Maybe she shouldn’t have been, but as long as she didn’t know them, it was no feathers off her back if they perished. Maybe they should’ve picked a safer occupation.  
  
The timing of the pulls seemed too coincidental for her liking. She and Honker had ensured that Darkwing’s computer was well secured, including a VPN that set his IP address somewhere overseas and changed every so often. Tracing it was impossible; if he was going to have a secure lair, then he needed a secure internet connection. After much nagging, she’d also gotten him high speed internet, arguing that he required it if he was going to look up big files and pictures. She’d thought he was going to have a coronary when he saw the bill.  
  
SHUSH usually employed the Wayback Machine to record data if the site went down, but it’d been disabled too. Gosalyn sat back in the swivel chair and frowned, Honker looking over her shoulder. Someone had been meddling with their system. Apprehensive that the database might crash again, she consulted the administrator logs.  
  
Who or what was Betina Beakley? Gosalyn glanced at Honker, who shrugged. Yeah, it didn’t ring a bell with her either. She went to look up further information about the administrator and the computer froze. Since it was a top of the line model, she knew it had to do with the data they were accessing and not some random occurrence. Gosalyn groaned, rebooting the machine.  
  
Suffice it to say, someone really didn’t want them poking around in there. Someone by the name of Betina Beakley.  
  
She looked up from the desktop to spy her father berating the Thunderquack and warning it in no uncertain terms what trash heap it’d inhabit if it didn’t listen to what he said. Gosalyn rolled her eyes again. Did he really think that was going to work?  
  
“Um, far be it for me to presume, Mr. Mallard, but you appear to have two of these wires mixed up,” Honker said, leaning in to inspect the repair. “If you started up the Thunderquack with them in that position, you could start an engine fire.”  
  
“I knew that,” Darkwing snapped. His eyes flashed and Gosalyn rushed to her feet to haul Honker back from her father’s impending rage. He’d never strike a kid, but Honker didn’t need to be on the front lines for getting his head bitten off, either.  
  
“Then why did you do it?” Honker asked and Gosalyn groaned.  
  
“Shut up,” she hissed at him.  
  
Darkwing muttered under his breath a few unkind words and then returned to his task. After another session of grumbling, filled with some impressive curse words, he got the Thunderquack running, sans an engine fire. He turned to the kids.  
  
“You have your overnight bag, right, Gosalyn?” he asked, testy.  
  
“Yes, Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been waiting on you to--”  
  
“I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted. He looked like he had a headache on top of everything. “Honker, you have everything?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Honker agreed.  
  
“Let’s go to Duckburg, then,” Darkwing Duck said. “And hope we don’t run into that goody-two-shoes Gizmoduck.”  
  
“What is your problem with him, anyway?” Honker asked as they piled into the Thunderquack.  
  
“He’s just so smarmy,” he replied. “So suave and thinks he’s so good and noble with that stupid suit of his.”  
  
“I really don’t think that’s the case, Dad,” Gosalyn argued.  
  
“‘I really don’t think that’s the case’,” Darkwing mimicked. “I’ll be the judge of that.”  
  
He started the plane up, pressed a lever within it to roll down one of the walls, and flew out. He was tense and she could tell by the set of his shoulders that this was not going to be a pleasant ride. To occupy herself, she glanced out the window at the approaching bridge. Audubon Bay was on the other side of town, away from Duckburg, so he’d have to fly over Saint Canard to reach Duckburg. Would Steelbeak be waiting to shoot them down? Or had he actually gotten a life for once?  
  
Yeah, she wasn’t betting on that last one. Rolling her eyes, she psyched herself up for visiting Duckburg. It was only a bridge away, but they’d never been there. Other than Gizmoduck, she wasn’t sure why they hadn’t visited. Crime kept Darkwing pretty busy in Saint Canard, but that was no excuse for staying home all the time.  
  
What was the big deal? It wasn’t like Steelbeak was following them into Duckburg. They had nothing to worry about.  
  
\----  
  
Steelbeak arrived at McDuck Manor in a steel-plated tank. Yes, it was a bit much and yes, it wasn’t subtle, but when Steelbeak traveled, he went in style. Raising the cannon, he fired at the gates, which dented before falling down entirely. Alarms went off in the house and he scoffed.  
  
“A security alarm isn’t gonna save you this time,” Steelbeak said, snickering. “Just a little wake up call from your friendly neighborhood rooster. WAKE UP!”  
  
He launched a missile at the top of the house. This was fun. Man, he should storm houses more often.  
  
The missile didn’t connect. Instead, a shield shimmered into place around the manor. The weapon bounced off and exploded a few feet away from Steelbeak’s tank and he yelped. That was new and unwanted.  
  
He’d step up his efforts, then. No barricades would keep him out for long.  
  
\----  
  
After Webbigail 2 had been kidnapped, Scrooge had invested in a much better security system. He’d also given Doofus’s parents a talking to about not kidnapping people and holding their son responsible for his behavior. He glanced through the security cameras and his blood ran cold. Steelbeak was holding up a megaphone and Scrooge muted it.  
  
About to head off to locate Mrs. Beakley, he found her standing beside him.  
  
“I take it the trip went well,” he said.  
  
“Well enough,” she said and then turned to face the camera too. She cursed, which struck him as impressive considering she never did that normally. Then he saw the reason. It wasn’t just because of Steelbeak. Webby had come in after her grandmother.  
  
“We have a situation,” Scrooge said calmly, although he felt like panicking himself. “Take care of the children and then come back, Mrs. Beakley.”  
  
“Webbigail--” Mrs. Beakley started and then stopped as her granddaughter stepped forward, staring at her father.  
  
She pivoted on her heel and then bolted from the room, prompting her grandmother to scurry after her. Scrooge groaned, burying his face in his hands. He wasn’t a praying man, but he prayed Webby wasn’t about to run headlong into danger and her father. That was just what they needed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steelbeak encounters Beakley and Darkwing, neither of whom are willing to let him attack McDuck Manor. Steelbeak and Beakley have a one on one conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only updating once a week from here on out, I think. And I'm also feeling very unconfident right now in my writing. It's a bad time for it, but with all the stress going on and my father emulating the Dursleys, it's not entirely unexpected.

Webby darted toward the entrance only to be stopped by the boys and Lena.  
  
“Where do you think you’re going?” Huey demanded as another shell struck the barrier. Its percussive force shook the house and Webby hesitated. Even though the shells weren’t hitting the house, they were still strong enough to rock it when they ricocheted. Her heart was in her throat.  
  
She’d promised her grandmother she wouldn’t chase after Steelbeak. Then again, she wasn’t. He was right here, bombarding the house. It’d be folly to rush out the door and she knew it, but this was a chance to glimpse her father in the flesh.  
  
“You do know that if we try to stop her, we’ll end up flung into a wall, right?” Louie asked Huey in an undertone.  
  
“You know better than to go out there,” Lena said and Webby raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Since when are you the voice of caution?” Huey asked.  
  
“I’m just saying that--” another loud boom shook the house--”running toward the guy with the heavy artillery? Not the greatest idea.”  
  
They turned when they heard Scrooge’s voice reverberate through the house and outside. Steelbeak stopped his bombardment and the kids looked up, holding their collective breath without realizing it.  
  
“What do you want?” Scrooge snapped, testy. “You’re not getting into the house, I can tell you that much.”  
  
“I wanted to have a little chat,” Steelbeak said.  
  
“So you throw missiles and shells at my house?” Scrooge snarled. “How is that conducive to talking?”  
  
“I wanted to get your attention,” Steelbeak said smugly. “It worked, didn’t it?”  
  
“Of course it worked! How am I going to ignore some idiot hawking missiles at the manor?” he demanded. “You could’ve used the speaker like a normal person.”  
  
“What can I say? I wanted to come in with a bang,” Steelbeak said, snickering. “Now, I believe you have some kids who’ve been poking their beaks where they don’t belong.”  
  
Webby froze and the kids all exchanged guilty looks. All except for Lena, who looked unperturbed by the accusation. Her gaze flicked toward the entrance, however, and uncertainty flashed across her face. Webby wondered what she was thinking. Sometimes, maybe because Webby had had so little interaction with other people until the boys arrived, she found Lena inscrutable.  
  
“And what is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.  
  
“Pulling SHUSH files and trying to access my dossier,” Steelbeak said. “Or didn’t you think I would notice?”  
  
Scrooge covered the microphone and sighed. When his voice next rang out, it only echoed in the house, not outside. He sounded exhausted suddenly, as though the encounter had drained him.  
  
“Webbigail…” Scrooge called. “Come here.  
  
“On second thought, you had all better come in.”  
  
Feeling like a sword was dangling over her head, the Sword of Damocles, Webby retreated the way she’d come with the others following in her stead. Lena walked at her side with Dewey on Webby’s other side. She supposed they were trying to make her feel better. It did, but only slightly. She was apprehensive.  
  
“I thought I caught Louie before any sort of alert was issued,” Mrs. Beakley said when they arrived. “But it’s possible that I may have contributed to Steelbeak’s alert.”  
  
“You went digging through old SHUSH files online?” Scrooge asked, raising his eyebrows.  
  
“Yeah, I’m surprised they digitized anything,” Louie said offhandedly. “They seem like they’re stuck in the Stone Age.”  
  
“You didn’t think that maybe, someone, somewhere, would be monitoring them?” Scrooge asked. “Other than Mrs. Beakley.”  
  
He turned to the ex-spy. “How much does Steelbeak know about the situation?”  
  
“Probably not more than that the extraction attempts came from this manor and his surmise that it was one of the kids,” she answered. “Anything else he might have is specious. However, I do not want to test that theory by letting anyone outside to converse with him.”  
  
She shot Webby a warning look.  
  
“It’s not possible that we could assuage him and he can go on his merry way, is it?” Scrooge asked Mrs. Beakley in an undertone.  
  
“In my experience, Steelbeak is not easily satisfied,” Mrs. Beakley said and then sighed. “But I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
Webby wanted to accompany her, but she couldn’t sneak in via the life vests as she had when she’d stowed away with Scrooge earlier. Instead, she stepped closer to the cameras, as did the other kids. It was her first glimpse of Steelbeak at length in the flesh and she tried to see how he might be appealing. He was a slick operator or looked like one, and he strutted around like he owned the place.  
  
“Are you sure he’s a rooster?” Lena asked, startling Webby. “He looks as vain as a peacock.”  
  
“He can afford to be cocky,” Huey said. “He brought enough artillery to devastate half of Duckburg.”  
  
He blinked, staring harder at the screen. Behind Steelbeak, as Mrs. Beakley left the manor and the shield shimmered briefly to permit her egress, Darkwing Duck and a red-haired girl materialized. Webby blinked too. Since when was Darkwing Duck a real thing? She thought he was just some superhero on TV.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Steelbeak and Darkwing demanded, glowering at each other. The duckling, who looked no older than Webby, edged away, trying to find a neutral place to stand. Webby frowned at her. Since when Darkwing have a kid sidekick? She was curious again and the adults were all preoccupied...except Scrooge.  
  
“Don’t even think about it, lass,” he warned.  
  
Another shot went off, streaking over the gathered group outside’s heads. They ducked and the missile bounced harmlessly against the barrier. Webby’s frown deepened.  
  
“You know, you’d think that with all of them bouncing off, he’d get the hint,” Lena said.  
  
“Unless he’s trying to weaken the barrier with successive hits, thinking that it won’t be able to withstand a sustained barrage,” Huey reasoned. That wasn’t a very reassuring thought. “He has a lot of weapons. He might be able to wait it out.”  
  
“Don’t you have any  _good_  news?” Louie huffed.  
  
“I don’t know how strong the shield is, so his tactic might not work,” Huey said.  
  
“It’s never been tested before now,” Scrooge said, scowling. “I couldn’t tell you how strong it is, either.”  
  
“We’re dead, aren’t we?” Louie asked. His eyes had gone wide and he was fidgeting, hands in his hoodie pocket. He looked five seconds away from panicking. Webby understood his distress, but part of her was thrilled. For one thing, that was her father standing outside, whom she’d never met or even known the truth about until recently. For another, in a weird way, being under siege was exciting. It was out of the ordinary and anything could happen.  
  
The others would probably think she was insane if she voiced that, so she kept it to herself.  
  
“Not necessarily,” Scrooge said. “We have a backup shield. If that fails, then we worry.”  
  
“Great,” Louie said. “We’re sitting ducks.”  
  
Scrooge concentrated on the screen and the interchange between everyone; Webby admitted she’d lost track of the conversation, given Louie’s anxiety. Darkwing Duck was facing off Steelbeak with a single gas gun, which seemed optimistic and fatalistic from Webby’s point of view. She hadn’t forgotten how deadly Steelbeak was supposed to be, even if she didn’t know it on an emotional level.  
  
“I have business here,” Steelbeak and Darkwing snapped in unison and then growled at each other.  
  
“I see you brought your daughter with you,” Steelbeak said, sneering. “I can kill two birds with one shot. Literally.”  
  
“Get behind me,” Mrs. Beakley commanded the girl and she huffed but reluctantly agreed. She looked like she wanted to whip out martial arts and attack Steelbeak, but it wasn’t a good idea, even if Webby understood the temptation.  
  
“You aren’t wanted here,” Mrs. Beakley growled at Steelbeak. Webby flinched; true hatred flashed in her grandmother’s eyes. She indicated that the redhead should walk toward the mansion and advanced on the giant rooster. Webby imagined that anyone normally on the receiving end of a look like that didn’t live very much longer.  
  
“Oh, if it isn’t a retired SHUSH agent,” Steelbeak scoffed. “I know your type.”  
  
“You’re a SHUSH agent?” Darkwing said. She ignored him and punched Steelbeak in the face in between the eyes. He hadn’t seen it coming and staggered backward.  
  
“Get a load of this broad,” he started but didn’t have time to launch into any sort of speech before Mrs. Beakley kicked the gun out of his hands and cold-cocked him. Steelbeak fell backward, landing hard, and Darkwing huffed.  
  
“I could’ve done that,” he said. Mrs. Beakley glowered at him.  
  
“Aren’t you a little far from home?” she asked.  
  
She frowned at Steelbeak and let her breath out through her clenched beak. “I need to question him, but I can’t bring him into the manor.”  
  
Darkwing’s gaze flicked to McDuck Manor and then to the young girl. Webby, sensing that the danger had passed, bolted out the door with the triplets and Lena in tow. She wanted to know who this girl was that Steelbeak had it out for. Behind them, Scrooge snarled, trying to cut them off, but they were younger and unimpeded by canes.  
  
“I told you to stay in the manor,” Mrs. Beakley snapped at Webby. “It isn’t safe out here.”  
  
“I want to see him,” Webby said. “I want to talk to him.”  
  
“Out of the question,” Mrs. Beakley said. She kicked Steelbeak’s prone form. They looked up at the sound of guns being cocked. It looked like Steelbeak’s henchmen didn’t take well to their boss being knocked out. It was an impressive amount of firepower, far more than she and her grandmother could handle, even with Darkwing’s help. The redheaded girl gulped, inching closer to the others.  
  
“Don’t you have any magic you could do?” Webby whispered to Lena.  
  
“All of my ‘magic’ was Magica’s,” Lena answered. “I was just borrowing it.”  
  
All four guns fired at once and Mrs. Beakley and Darkwing flattened the kids to the ground.  
  
“Back to the manor,” Mrs. Beakley said. She dug her fingers into Steelbeak’s collar and looked the Eggheads in the eyes. “And I’m taking him with me. If you shoot me, you’ll shoot your boss too.”  
  
Turning on her heel and ordering all the kids to stay safe and away from her, she dragged Steelbeak into the house. She cast one last warning glance at Webby to tell her not to interfere before disappearing back into the house with her captive.  
  
\----  
  
Steelbeak awoke to discover himself bound to a chair in an empty room, devoid of everything except a chair and the SHUSH agent he’d spied earlier. His head ached something fierce and his throat was dry. Something about the broad was familiar, but he couldn’t say what. Of course, it was hard to concentrate considering how much his head pounded. The last thing he remembered was her fist aiming for his head and then waking up to this. What the actual expletive.  
  
“Hey, lady, you think you could undo these ties? They’re cutting into my arms,” he said. The woman turned around and he froze. A look of pure hatred filled her features.  
  
“What gives? I didn’t do nothin’ to you,” he snapped. “I was just minding my own business--”  
  
“You were minding your own business,” the agent repeated in a tone that indicated she was suppressing rage. “And firing at the house.”  
  
“Hey, whatever the kids did, that’s not your concern,” Steelbeak said. “Unless they’re your kids. The girl looks a little like you if you squint. She looks more like someone I knew once.”  
  
“‘Someone you knew once’,” the agent repeated.  
  
“Is there an echo in here?” Steelbeak demanded. “I’m serious. What’s with the rough treatment? Unless that’s your thing.”  
  
She rounded on him and the fire in her eyes pooled dread in his stomach. She looked like she wanted to emasculate him and then send him out into the ocean filled with piranhas. He honestly had no idea why she was looking at him with such venom. He’d literally never seen her before in his life.  
  
“That is not my  _thing_ ,” she snapped. “And I’m not surprised you don’t remember what you’ve done. After all, you’ve done in so many agents.”  
  
“Look, if someone I did in was a relative or friends of yours, I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s just business. You take what you want and you get rid of anyone who gets in your way. That’s how it works.”  
  
The agent quivered in fury. “My name is Bentina Beakley. Perhaps you recognize the last name? You knew my daughter. Intimately.”  
  
“Yeah, not ringing any bells,” Steelbeak said. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”  
  
“The 2006 Gala with Flintheart Glomgold,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. She couldn’t have been more intimidating if she’d been leveling a crossbow at his chest. He wouldn’t have put it past her, either. Holy crap, this broad was angry with him.  
  
“You met my daughter, Wren.  _You took advantage of my daughter, Wren_ ,” she said and she appeared to be swallowing back further rage. It wasn’t a pretty picture. For the first time in a long time, Steelbeak feared for his life. She legitimately looked like she wanted to kill him.  
  
“I might remember something,” he hedged. “Look, I don’t remember most of that night, to tell you the truth. So I might’ve brought someone home. What’s the big deal?”  
  
She slapped him so hard that his ears rang and his head snapped from the recoil. She looked like she wanted to hit him so hard that his neck snapped too. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. She was insane. She was insane and the Eggheads were outside.  
  
“Didn’t you hear the part where I said you took advantage of my daughter?” she said. “Or should I repeat it again?”  
  
“You weren’t there,” he retorted. “You don’t know what happened.”  
  
“I know--knew--Wren well enough to tell,” Beakley said.  
  
“She didn’t seem like the type to run to mommy,” he sneered.  
  
“So you do remember her. That’ll make things easier.”  
  
“That girl outside,” he said, changing the subject and hoping it might defuse the situation. “She looks like her mom. Wait, are you telling me that...Nah. Even I’m not arrogant enough to think anything came from that.”  
  
He snorted.  
  
The fury drained abruptly and he glimpsed cold fear on her face before it too vanished. The girl was her granddaughter, then. Wren’s child. And his. Oh, well, now, this was getting interesting. She was the first offspring he’d heard about.  
  
“You know, for a spy, your tells are pretty obvious,” he snorted. “How long did you think you could keep her from me?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffed. “That child has nothing to do with you and will continue to have nothing to do with you.”  
  
Steelbeak’s smile became crooked and his gaze shrewd. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t look like me, then, isn’t it?”  
  
“Again, you continue to spout nonsense,” she said. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”  
  
“So, the kid’s mine,” he said. “And you’ve been hiding her from me for what? Twelve years? Didn’t think I’d find out eventually? Or did she want me to find her?”  
  
“She didn’t want you to find her,” Mrs. Beakley said, finally giving up the ghost that the girl wasn’t his. There was resignation in her face, as well as apprehension. She didn’t meet his eyes now. Was she that afraid for the girl? Why? What did she think he’d do to her?  
  
“You know, I’m not interested in kids,” he said conversationally. “Although, since this one is mine, I’ll make an exception.”  
  
“No,” she said evenly. “You won’t.”  
  
He sneered. Though he was the one bound, he had the power and the upper hand here. She didn’t want him anywhere near her precious granddaughter. What a shame it was that she’d tipped him off to her existence, then. But how had she slipped his notice before?  
  
Mrs. Beakley was quiet for a moment and then, when she spoke, the deadly edge returned.  
  
“You attacked my daughter, didn’t you?” she said. “You killed her.”  
  
“You can’t prove it,” he said and then shrugged. “Like I said, business is business. She was a loose end that needed tying up. Then again, it sounds like she created another one. That kid, what’s her name?”  
  
“I’m not telling you that.”  
  
They had a staring contest; her glare was more than a match for his. He read shame and fear on her face, as well as hatred. She had failed to protect both her daughter and her granddaughter from him. That was her fault, as a terrible SHUSH agent. Then again, what could you expect? SHUSH agents were eminently expendable.  
  
“What was your plan?” he scoffed. “You were going to question me and then what? You let me into your home. That wasn’t too smart.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley frowned as if seriously considering the matter before she cold-clocked him again.  
  
\----  
  
Bentina Beakley thought she was going to be sick. She hadn’t meant to reveal Webby’s existence to Steelbeak. He was the last person she wanted knowing. She gazed at Steelbeak’s slack features and sighed. She’d failed both Wren and Webby.  
  
What had she been thinking, keeping him captive? She should’ve known he was too shrewd to fool for long. Of course, she hadn’t expected him to admit to taking advantage of Wren, but the way he’d blown her off was infuriating. It was like his indiscretions didn’t matter.  
  
Maybe they didn’t. Maybe because he was insulated from the price of his mistakes and arrogance, he never felt the cruel hand of fate upon him. She wasn’t sure how she wanted to proceed, but one thing was for sure. She wasn’t giving him any more information to work with.  
  
Poor, poor Webbigail. Perhaps if she’d told her the truth from the beginning, she could’ve prevented all of this. This was her fault. And Steelbeak was right--she shouldn’t have brought him into the manor, though she was at a loss to say what she should’ve done instead.  
  
She needed to plot her next move. And she needed to still the nagging sense that Steelbeak had yet again gotten the better of them again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steelbeak answers a few questions, proving what happened to Webby's mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early because I want to wake up to reviews tomorrow. XD Also, I don't want to steal season 2's thunder by posting on Saturday like I normally do. I'm thinking maybe Friday nights now? 
> 
> This, plus the next chapter, plus the epilogue, and the story is over.

Steelbeak had to gain the upperhand again. He couldn’t sit here being interrogated by a former SHUSH agent, especially one whose most valuable secret was up for grabs. What he wanted was to get his hands on Webbigail, both because she would prove a potent weakness for Beakley and because she belonged to him. By all rights, she was his, not Beakley’s. He had sired her, which gave him the stronger claim to her. And Steelbeak did not like when people took his things away. It infuriated him.  
  
Yes, he considered Webbigail a thing, a possession. Unfortunately, Beakley had tied his bonds rather tightly to prevent him from escaping. A commotion outside threatened to break her concentration on him and he silently encouraged it. For once, that red-headed brat might be working in his favor. She seemed to be arguing with someone--he recognized the baritone. Scrooge McDuck. Well, it was her funeral.  
  
The argument grew more heated and Beakley, after casting a quick glance at Steelbeak, decided to open the door. She turned her back on Steelbeak, which was a mistake. He glanced through the window in the hopes that the Eggheads might’ve been able to penetrate the barrier. No such luck. They bounced off and he growled.  
  
“You’re not slipping your bonds,” Beakley said. “I made sure of it.”  
  
“My dad can handle him,” Gosalyn was saying, “He’s done it before.”  
  
“Granny, maybe if I just talk to him--” Webby started and he snorted.  
  
“She should talk to me,” he called. “After all, she belongs to me.”  
  
There was a harsh silence and Webby poked her in through the door. Her eyes were wide and fearful. Good, fear, he could work with that. When she looked at him like that, she reminded him of Wren, albeit a younger version. Wren had been petrified of him once she realized his full potential.  
  
“She most certainly does not,” Beakley snapped. “She is my granddaughter and moreover, she does not ‘belong’ to you in the way in which you are implying.”  
  
“She’s my daughter,” he said and Beakley shuddered. Apparently, she hadn’t appreciated the reminder. He grinned cruelly.  
  
“Wait, Steelbeak’s your dad?” Gosalyn asked.  
  
“Not by choice,” Webby muttered and he snorted again.  
  
“She belongs to me,” he repeated. “She’s my property.”  
  
“Woah, woah,” one of the triplets, the one wearing a red cap, protested. “No one belongs to anyone else. You can’t just claim someone.”  
  
Steelbeak was getting angry. The children deflecting his questions, when he already loathed children, had gotten his blood up. Beakley’s bonds were cutting off blood circulation in his wrists and he was without his henchmen. In her haste to tie him up, however, she might’ve made the rope too tight. If he could just increase the tension, he might be able to snap the rope.  
  
“You don’t know how this works, do you, kid?” he challenged. “Let me tell you how it works. The duckling is mine and you’re not standing in my way.”  
  
The ropes snapped and he stood, reaching down to free his ankles. Beakley rounded on him and he could tell she wanted to grab him by the throat, but she was wary of acting so violently in front of the children. The ties around his ankles were sloppy and he evaded her next blow, using the chair as a shield between them. Beakley was letting her emotions get the better of her. She hadn’t been focusing, which could be deadly for an agent. Hell, he’d seen it in action and killed the agents in question. He knew it was lethal.  
  
“Give me my daughter,” he snapped. “Or I’ll take her by force.”  
  
“You can try,” came the response, but it wasn’t Beakley who’d said it. It was Webby, whose face might’ve been pale, but who looked determined. She stood side by side with Gosalyn and the two assumed offensive positions. Of Gosalyn, Steelbeak had little to fear. Webby, however, was an unknown element. She ought to shut up and do what she was told, but if a SHUSH agent had raised her and had learned from her daughter’s mistakes, then Webby might pose a challenge. Might. She was still his to do as he pleased and he didn’t appreciate the insurrection.  
  
“My granny was protecting me from you,” Webby continued. She stepped closer into the room, but Beakley blocked her entrance. Steelbeak snorted; he pulled out a revolver that he’d kept in his pockets. Again, Beakley had been sloppy in not patting him down.  
  
“That’s right, she was,” he agreed. Scrooge finally materialized, having been occupied with the two other boys. His eyes narrowed as he beheld the revolver and he grabbed the boys to him. Beakley still stood between him and Webby.  
  
“Give me the girl,” Steelbeak said. “It isn’t really that hard, Beakley. Give her to me and I won’t bother you again. For now.”  
  
“Over my dead body,” Mrs. Beakley growled. “You are not touching a single feather on her head.”  
  
Steelbeak spun and she countered, kicking him in the chest. He responded by aiming for her temple with the gun, but she kicked that out of his hands. Growling, he pinned her against the wall and she kicked him in between the legs. Howling, he collapsed and she smirked.  
  
“That’s for Wren,” she said. “And for even daring to think you could put your hands on Webby.”  
  
“Granny, I--”  
  
“Stay out of this, Webbigail,” she instructed. Steelbeak was waiting for the horrific pain to stop. He would’ve taken advantage of his opponent’s distraction, but he couldn’t.  
  
“We should leave the two of them alone,” Scrooge said, ushering the boys past the open doorway. Webby hadn’t budged, however, and neither had Gosalyn. What was Beakley so afraid of? That he’d hurt her precious daughter? Only if she got in his way. She didn’t seem to understand the situation. She’d stolen what belonged to him. Wren had belonged to him too and he’d done with her what he pleased. The same would hold true for Webby.  
  
He rather wondered where Darkwing had gotten to in all of this. He was the one missing element and it irritated and unnerved Steelbeak not to know where his other opponent had gone. Then the glass behind him broke and Darkwing swung into the room. Beakley sighed, exasperated, and did her best to ignore the interruption. Steelbeak rolled, still in agony but capable of moving now, and pushed himself to his feet.  
  
Darkwing had his gas gun trained on him and Steelbeak punched him in the face. Or, rather, he’d meant to, but Darkwing had moved in the interim. However...he could use those gas pellets. If Darkwing were foolish enough to shoot one now, he could take advantage of the chaos that would inevitably ensue and kidnap Webby. He wasn’t sure whether she’d submit to being kidnapped, but...he’d work out the kinks later.  
  
Sure enough, Darkwing grew frustrated with Steelbeak’s constant evasion and sprayed the area with gas, over Beakley’s strenuous objections. Snorting, Steelbeak grabbed the chair and smashed it over where he thought Webby would be. Surely, in the cloud, she wouldn’t be able to see anything.  
  
The chair splintered around him and the gas cleared just enough for him to see her, livid, glaring back at him.  
  
“You killed my mother, didn’t you?” Webby accused.  
  
“It was nothing personal,” he snorted. “Just tying up loose ends.”  
  
“I don’t know what you think you want from me,” she said and then coughed, the acrid air stinging everyone’s lungs. “But you’re not getting it.”  
  
He had a pellet of knock-out gas in his pocket, but if he used it at such close range, he risked putting everyone to sleep, not just her. The manor was too well fortified for him to get a second chance at this, not to mention Beakley would never permit him access to her granddaughter. He threw the pellet in Webby’s face and she knocked it away, where it collided with the gas Darkwing had already sprayed. The resulting explosion was unpredictable, but hardly surprising.  
  
Steelbeak groaned, having collided with the wall. He assessed his surroundings as the smoke cleared. He wanted Webby. He would have her.  
  
Webby was lying, stunned, and he scooped her up from behind. Immediately, she struggled, kicking him in the beak. That was a mistake, but she didn’t stop pummeling and kicking whatever was within reach. Most of the blows went wild--the gritty gas cloud’s contents made it difficult to aim. It also made it hard for him to see what was happening next.  
  
“Let go of her!” the red hat boy snapped and followed it up with a punch that did no damage whatsoever. The blow that Beakley dealt to his head, however, did. How many knocks to the head had he taken in the last hour? Three? She was going to kill him at his rate. Perhaps that was her intention.  
  
He tightened his grip on Webby and applied pressure to her throat. Her struggles grew more frenzied and she punched him in the eye. Beakley punched him in the solar plexus, which knocked the wind out of him, and Webby followed it up with another kick to the abdomen. Gasping, he doubled over and released her. The young girl delivered a roundhouse kick that sent him spinning into the wall.  
  
Groaning, in a great deal of pain, he stared up at everyone. The smoke was dispersing and he could see several very angry adults, accompanied by six angry children. A slightly older teenage girl had a protective arm about Webbigail.  
  
“Get out,” Mrs. Beakley ordered. “And don’t come back.”  
  
He would have to find another way to claim Webbigail. He wasn’t going to give up that easily. Plus, he still had to take his revenge on Gosalyn. No, he wasn’t done for, even it seemed like he was. After all, he hadn’t gotten to where he was today by letting children and their nannies get in his way. For now, he would rest and plan his next move.  
  
So he agreed, all the while knowing this was just a temporary hitch in his plans.  
  
\-----  
  
“The company wasn’t happy about it,” Scrooge said and that sounded like the understatement of the century. “They’ve agreed to finance one last expedition, this time to the moon. We can’t land on the dark side of the moon, where Della might be, so we’ll have to travel there on our own once we land.”  
  
“How did you get them to agree?” Huey asked. “They’re pretty tight-fisted.”  
  
“Yeah, worse than you,” Louie said and Scrooge huffed. Louie was fiddling with his phone again.  
  
Webby was staring at the floor. After everything that had happened, she could’ve used a breather. She could still hear Steelbeak in her head declaring that she belonged to him. Dewey and Lena stood on either side of her and she appreciated their company, though she would’ve preferred to be alone right now.  
  
“I had to promise them a bigger cut of the profits,” he said, grimacing. Louie looked up, outraged, and he said, “It’s not your money, boy! And besides, if I can find Della...I can afford to lose money.”  
  
“If we can find Mom, it’s worth it,” Louie agreed quietly, returning to stare at his phone.  
  
“The dark side of the moon covers a lot of ground,” Huey said. “How will we know where to start looking?”  
  
“Maybe for a giant shipwreck?” Dewey suggested. “You know, exploded rocket.”  
  
“It wouldn’t have exploded,” Scrooge said. “She’s still alive, so she must’ve survived whatever happened. It might’ve fallen apart, however. But it couldn’t have burned up--the moon has its own gravitational pull, but not Earth’s atmosphere.  
  
“How could she have survived for all that time without help?” Huey asked.  
  
“And if she’s stuck on the moon, how come Selene didn’t tell us?” Dewey said. “She’s supposed to be the goddess of the moon. How could she have missed it?”  
  
“Unless she was conning you,” Louie said, putting his phone away for now and scowling. “I don’t know what she’d get out of it.”  
  
“She seemed sincere,” Dewey argued.  
  
“Face it, Dewey, you’re not the best at detecting cons,” Louie said. “You’re pretty easy to pull one over on.”  
  
“I am not,” Dewey said and then frowned too. “Am I?”  
  
“Yeah...you are,” Huey said and squeezed his shoulder to take the sting out of it. “But don’t worry. So...if Selene kept stuff from us, then does she know exactly where Mom is?”  
  
“Then it looks like we’re back to Ithaquack,” Scrooge said and grimaced. “Again. We’d better tell Donald--he’ll want to come along and see if we can wring some answers out of Selene.”  
  
“She has to know where Mom is,” Dewey said. “She’s the moon goddess. But...why keep it from us? Why lie to me and Webby?”  
  
Webby, who hadn’t spoken a word since the encounter with Steelbeak, continued staring at the floor. Gosalyn and her father had left the group to speak privately with Mrs. Beakley about Steelbeak. She knew her grandmother didn’t think much of Darkwing Duck, especially since he’d led Gosalyn into danger, but it was by mistake.  
  
“I don’t know,” Scrooge said and his expression darkened. “But I dare say we’re going to find out.”  
  
It took less than an hour to assemble everyone, including Donald. Launchpad was under the mistaken impression that they were going from there to the moon; Scrooge didn’t appear as confident in Launchpad’s abilities as Launchpad was. Then again, that was hardly a surprise. No one was as confident as their driver. And most likely, no one least belonged on the road.  
  
Gyro was spending time building a spaceship--thanks to technological improvements and the power money brought, it shouldn’t take too long. He was questioning the reasoning too, especially when it seemed a poor investment to him, but Scrooge hadn’t been in the mood for him. Webby had heard part of the conversation after the gathering; Scrooge had been on the phone for almost an hour with the board and Gyro.  
  
“All right, Ithaquack,” Launchpad said. “Haven’t been there in a while.”  
  
“We didn’t go there last time on purpose,” Scrooge said and then sighed. “I rather wish we weren’t going there at all, but the boys have a point. And we could use all the information we can get.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley looked rather smug, coming out of her interview with Darkwing Duck, and Darkwing and Gosalyn promised that they were hanging around Duckburg, if Webby and the others wanted to hang out. Judging by the look on Gosalyn’s face, she wanted that very much, but Webby was preoccupied with other matters. It might be an effort to drag herself to care about other people.  
  
“Hey, I get it,” Lena said as they parted before the Sunchaser. She was getting better at walking; this time it was more that she had no interest in Ithaquack than that she couldn’t go. “You can’t pick your family. And I know what it’s like to be related to a sociopath. I doubt Beakley’s going to let him get anywhere near you again--and I doubt you wanna talk to him again, either.”  
  
Webby nodded. She had nothing to say in response and Lena pulled her into a tight hug.  
  
“You could always stay here if you want,” she said. “We could have a girls’ night, do our hair, makeup, watch slasher flicks...you know. Girl stuff.”  
  
She shook her head. She felt duty-bound to go and support the boys. They’d supported her searching for her parents’ information. It was time to return the favor.  
  
“You know, your not talking is kinda weird,” Lena opined. “It’s like you’re in an alternate dimension. Quiet Webby.”  
  
Webby’s beak quivered toward a weak smile.  
  
“You sure you want to go?” Lena pushed and Webby nodded.  
  
“All right,” the teenager said, though she looked dubious. “Just be careful. Or whatever that means for you.”  
  
Webby gave Lena an extra squeeze and headed onto the Sunchaser. She was the last straggler and once she’d boarded, the latch door closed and Launchpad prepared for takeoff. She hugged her knees to her chest. It seemed her part in this adventure was over, for which she was grateful and yet not.  
  
Dewey slung an arm about her shoulders and sat beside her. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay, you know?”  
  
She was surprised to find that there were tears in her eyes. Not speaking, afraid that to speak would be to open up the waterworks, she pressed her face into Dewey’s shoulder. He hugged her closer.  
  
“It’s okay, Webs,” Dewey said and she heard the other two approaching. “We’re here for you.”  
  
She reached for Dewey’s hand and took it. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles.  
  
“We’ll always be here for you,” Huey added.  
  
Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she nodded. Maybe once they reached Ithaquack, Della’s mysterious disappearance would prove a welcome distraction from her troubled history. Maybe Webby should’ve taken Lena up on her offer. It would’ve made sense to--she needed to decompress. But...she couldn’t miss this, either. She couldn’t be selfish and sit it out just because she’d made a real mess of things.  
  
They stayed like that for a while, the boys arrayed around her and the sound of the plane the only thing piercing the silence.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Della is rescued and Steelbeak is dealt with, though admittedly not in the most satisfying manner for Mrs. Beakley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, that _is_ a Doctor Who reference. Couldn't resist.
> 
> So, someone on ff.net said Mrs. Beakley should kill Steelbeak. Talking to someone *else* on ff.net, who said it'd be OOC for her to do so (and I agreed), I wound up writing the opening scene three times.

Steelbeak was headed to prison, where he would invariably get out again. It grated Bentina Beakley's already raw nerves, but killing him would solve nothing. It wouldn't bring Wren back and it wouldn't undo the damage he'd already done to so many families. All she could do was hope, with Webby aware of the problem, that she'd be able to handle things when her father escaped or was released. She'd trained Webby well enough, after all. She ought to be able to handle herself.  
  
She'd remained back at the manor while the others left. Well, everyone except Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, and Launchpad. The thirty-one-year-old man had made himself positively embarrassing over discovering that his idol was not only real but alive and well. Unfortunately, to make matters worse, Darkwing Duck had an ego the size of Duckburg and was soaking up all of Launchpad's adulation. They were going to have a problem on their hands.  
  
However...she would admit that she wouldn't exactly discourage Launchpad if he decided he'd rather pilot the Thunderquack than nearly kill the children and Mr. McDuck on a regular basis. Darkwing Duck was an adult. He knew what was getting into. The children were innocent.  
  
She gave Gosalyn some cookies; Gosalyn had wanted to talk further with Webby, but Webby had gone with the others to see whether they could find Della Duck on the moon. Bentina had said nothing to the contrary, although Scrooge knew she had her doubts. However, this would be the last expedition, one way or another. She couldn't refuse to let Webby go and she trusted Gyro's skills in getting them off Earth far more than she trusted Launchpad's skills _on_ Earth.  
  
Even if Gyro Gearloose's inventions had an alarming habit of turning evil. The ship shouldn't be sentient, however, which eradicated that problem.  
  
She wished she could speak with Wren once more and give her the closure she wanted, but Steelbeak still being alive and imprisoned wasn't what Wren had wanted. They had both agreed Steelbeak should suffer for what he'd done, though Wren was bloodthirsty on account of how she'd ended up in the pool in the first place. Bentina didn't blame her daughter, per se, but she didn't think that was the answer, either. Wren had always been quick to jump to decisions when it suited her.  
  
Wren _was_ sorry about Webbigail, though, which Bentina supposed mattered more than Steelbeak's current whereabouts. She withheld a sigh and watched Launchpad debase himself in front of Darkwing.  
  
"Yep, yep, yep, I'm incredible," Darkwing agreed and Bentina groaned.  
  
"This could go on for a while," Gosalyn commented, munching on her chocolate chip cookies.  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mrs. Beakley muttered.  
  
"You are!" Launchpad exclaimed.  
  
"Launchpad, if that man's ego is stroked anymore, he won't be able to get back through the door," Bentina snapped.  
  
"Sorry, Mrs. B, but I can't help it," Launchpad protested.  
  
"That's exactly the problem," she scoffed, mentally facepalming. It was times like these she almost missed Duckworth as Scrooge's personal driver. Almost.

 

\-----  
  
  
They couldn’t land on the dark side of the moon, or, rather, they could, but they’d be radio blind with Earth. Therefore, they opted to land near the dark side and then take rovers. Webby dutifully followed to the rovers; she’d barely spoken on the trip over. Steelbeak hadn’t denied that he’d killed her mother.  Why had she wanted so badly to speak with him? She had known, deep down, that he’d been responsible. However, to hear it from his beak was another story.

 

The boys were excited, bouncing all over the place. Huey had noticed her mood and she’d politely brushed him off. She didn’t want to talk. If this hadn’t been so important to the boys and to her interests, she wouldn’t have gone. Her mind was ablaze with the revelations.

 

“Hey,” Huey said, nudging her as they drove off. Donald was sitting in the front seat with Scrooge and the four of them were squashed in the back seat. Webby knew she ought to be watching the landscape through her helmet. She kept imagining how her mother must’ve died. And what had her grandmother and her mother discussed that she wasn’t privy to? Did it have to do with her?

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

 

Webby shook her head and Louie and Dewey looked over to her. She felt like she had when she’d discovered that Lena was Magica’s shadow. Betrayed. At least with Lena, you could argue that she was technically Magica’s daughter and not part of her, not anymore. Lena had autonomy and besides, Webby’s feelings were complicated enough about Lena not to introduce further doubt into the mix. But Steelbeak was another story.

 

Steelbeak was responsible for her existence and also for her not having a mother. Her stomach twisted into knots. How different would her life have been if he’d known about her egg from the start? Would she have grown up in FOWL’s custody with her mother as Steelbeak’s associate? Or something far worse?

 

“You need to talk about it,” Huey said.

 

She shook her head again. She wanted to curl into a ball and hug her knees, but there wasn’t enough room. They were squashed.

 

“We’ll talk about it when we get home,” Huey said. Webby’s lips quirked. No, they probably wouldn’t. They’d be too preoccupied with Della if they found her and disappointed and depressed if they didn’t. She hoped they found their mother. At least she wasn’t dead like Wren…

 

“You know, if you’re not okay, that’s okay too,” Dewey said and she glanced over at him. “We’re still here for you, no matter what.”

 

She nodded. They sailed over the moon’s landscape the rest of the way in silence. The dark side of the moon encompassed a lot of area and she wasn’t sure how many hours had passed before they spotted a rocket’s remnants on the surface. Growing excited, Scrooge picked up speed, bringing them close to an outpost. Webby wasn’t sure who had built it or why, but once they entered, the air was oxygen-rich and they removed their helmets.

 

Their footsteps echoed on the tiled floors. It looked like an abandoned office building, with corridors branching off everywhere and countless doors along the walls. Webby’s heart was in her throat. How would they know where Della was in this massive place?

 

“Mom?” Dewey called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

 

“We don’t know who else could be here,” Scrooge hissed.

 

“She has to be here,” Dewey replied.

 

“I know that,” Scrooge said. “But that doesn’t mean you should go shouting our arrival to everyone here. You don’t know if she’s being held captive or is with hostile people. Use your head, lad.”

 

Sufficiently cowed, Dewey lowered his head. Webby didn’t think there was much point in proceeding silently. By now, between their footsteps and Dewey’s declaration, if anyone else was in here, they had to know they were here by now.

 

The atmosphere was oppressive. Dust overlaid everything and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The hallways were wide enough to drive a truck through and the entire space felt cavernous, too large to permit comfortable living. Webby shivered and the boys flanked her on both sides. The adults walked ahead of them, Donald looking around anxiously and Scrooge plodding determinedly forward.

 

“What if she’s not here?” Louie asked.

 

“That was the Spear of Selene,” Scrooge reminded him gently. “Or what was left of it. She has to be here. There’s nowhere else on the moon she could have gone with a diminishing oxygen source.”

 

Webby had an unpleasant mental image of Della Duck, injured, limping her way to safety and finding dubious sanctuary. There had to be food stores around here somewhere, as well as bandages and linens, but where they could be, Webby couldn’t begin to guess. How would Della have found them in an incapacitated state? She must’ve done so, though, or else she would’ve been in the pool. But they didn’t know in what state they might find Della now. It was possible she was permanently injured from the crash.

 

The same thought must’ve occurred to the triplets, at least Huey, because he looked faintly ill. Dewey grabbed her hand and squeezed, more to comfort himself than her. Louie, who hadn’t touched his phone the entire trip, stared at the dusty floor.

 

That was another thing. This place had gravity equal to or slightly less than Earth’s. That argued that someone had built it as a permanent outpost. But who? Why would someone build a random outpost on the dark side of the moon? What had they hoped to gain? Webby was pretty sure it was an alien race because they hadn’t reached that point with Earth’s capabilities.

 

They found an open door at the very end of the main hallway. They’d been reticent to split apart, lest they be unable to locate each other. Scrooge edged the door open further and stepped on something soft. He yelped, jumping backward.

 

“What in the blazes?” he exclaimed.

 

“Ow…” a female voice complained. “Give me some warning before you walk on my hair, Silene.”

 

“She didn’t hear me before,” Dewey said accusingly to Scrooge. “So it’s not like we needed to be quiet.”

 

“You’re not Silene…” the woman said, spinning around. The amount of hair that came along with her was astonishing. It whirled, getting in her face, and blocked out the control panel behind her. Webby gawked; it took up the entire room and she wasn’t sure how the woman could walk around with hair that long. She was a living embodiment of Rapunzel.

 

“Mom?” Dewey exclaimed.

 

“Boys?” she said softly and then yelped when Donald and the boys flung themselves at her. Webby stood back, a faint smile on her lips, while Scrooge joined the hug. Dewey gestured for Webby to come forward too and she thought about what she’d heard about the mirror dimension and the other Della. She was glad the same hadn’t befallen this Della.

 

“Uncle Scrooge...Donald...Hubert, Dewford, Llewellyn…” she said and then frowned. “I’m sorry, but...who are you?”

 

“Ugh, don’t call me Llewellyn,” Louie complained. “Why did you even pick that name?”

 

“I’m Webby,” she said.

 

“Haven’t you cut your hair since you crashed here?” Donald exclaimed, staring at the massive coil that she’d somehow managed to braid. It must have taken her days or possibly months to twine all of that together. There couldn’t be that many nerve endings with her hair if it was that long--it was probably more annoying than painful when someone stepped on her hair, particularly if the hair was further from her head.

 

“I never expected to see you again,” Della exclaimed, hugging as many people as she could to her. She couldn’t quite reach Webby, which was okay. Webby wasn’t family. Scrooge had thrown that in her face once and she still felt it like a blow to the face sometimes.

 

“We didn’t either,” Scrooge admitted. “What happened in that storm? How long have you been here? The entire time?”

 

“Almost the entire time,” she said. “Silene comes to visit sometimes. Otherwise, it’s pretty lonely. I can’t make contact here--I must be on the wrong side of the moon. Why didn’t you find me earlier, Uncle?”

 

“The board kept me from spending any more money,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. “I almost emptied my vaults funding expeditions to locate you. They only agreed to this last excursion because they thought it’d be the end of it. They wanted to humor me.

 

“And we didn’t know where you’d crashed. We’d been looking in the wrong direction.”

 

“Oh,” Della said. She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took the Spear. It was only supposed to be a test run. I didn’t mean to go that far, but I got swept away. I intended to be back for their hatching, I swear.”

 

Her lower beak trembled and she bit back a sob. Tears filled her eyes and she clung to her sons. They clung to her too and Webby felt uncomfortable, like she was intruding. Dewey wasn’t letting her step back, though. He was determined to keep her here.

 

“I’m so sorry…” she said and now she was sobbing openly. “I’m so sorry, boys. I never meant to abandon you.”

 

(Why hadn’t Wren felt that way about her? She knew Steelbeak would never have been that emotional over her, even if he’d known she’d existed before today. But she was a little jealous, even if she wouldn’t admit it and had no intention of letting anyone else know).

 

The boys were crying too and when Dewey moved to embrace his mother with both arms, Webby retreated. Her throat was tight and she swiped at her eyes. She’d never have that kind of reunion with her mother. Her mother had left her because she thought she’d be better off with her grandmother and because she’d been terrified of Steelbeak. It made sense, but seeing Della with the boys now stung something fierce.

 

She hugged herself. No one was paying attention to her. No one was questioning that Silene, the moon goddess, had known that she was here and provided for her without letting her leave the moon. That Silene had held Della hostage, essentially, and lied to Dewey about not knowing her whereabouts. Then again, why spoil the moment? There was plenty of time to ask those questions later.

 

It seemed to take forever for everyone to calm down enough to talk normally without bursting into tears again. Webby drifted away, staring at the closed doors on either side. Her grandmother had wanted to remain at the manor with Steelbeak, Darkwing Duck, and Gosalyn. At the time, she hadn’t questioned it. Now she wondered whether she ought to have. She didn’t know what her grandmother had in mind for Steelbeak and it might be safer not to ask. That was what she had thought at the time. Her grandmother had been in a dark mood when they’d left Duckburg.

 

Rumor had it there were moon creatures that had existed here and then departed. They had probably built this structure if Silene hadn’t. Silene could have created it as a way to keep an eye on Della. What was their relationship, anyway? It seemed odd to be holding a friend hostage…

 

“Webbigail?” Scrooge called and she turned, somewhat guiltily. She smiled weakly.

 

“Hi, Mr. McDuck,” she said.

 

“You can call me ‘Uncle Scrooge’ again if you want,” he cajoled. He had released Della and was moving toward her. “I know you’ve had a rough day, lass.”

 

She shook her head. The lump in her throat was difficult to speak around and she scrubbed at her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She was made of sterner stuff than that. Plus, she’d already cried enough in the last few weeks. She wasn’t that little girl with the dolly who cried over everything. She wasn’t Webby 2.

 

“I’m okay,” she said, shaking her head. She had to swallow past the lump to speak again without bursting into tears. “Really.”

 

“No, you’re not,” he said and hugged her. She shuddered with suppressed sobs.

 

“It’s okay, lass. Let it out,” he soothed and stroked her hair. The boys had turned toward them; she could feel their regard, as well as Della and Donald.

 

“She’s had a few upsets,” Scrooge said gently.

 

Webby concentrated on her breathing. Her grandmother had told her when she was getting too emotional, to think of things that grounded her and focus on the things she could control. Breathing was one of them. SHUSH agents were taught at the beginning how to control their outward reactions, though the lesson hadn’t seemed to take with Wren…

 

Thinking about Wren made this harder and she forced her mother out of her mind.

 

First, you breathe out, then you have to breathe in. Lash yourself repeatedly until it sticks. Until it sticks.

 

Closing her eyes, she inhaled and then exhaled, paying attention to what she could control. After a minute, she was in a better mental space and she opened her eyes to find everyone staring at her.

 

Cringing, she said to Scrooge, “How is everyone going to fit in the rover?”

 

“Your hair could take up a seat on its own,” Donald complained.

 

“I haven’t had anything to cut it with,” Della retorted. “Do you see anything sharp? No?”

 

“Then how did you cook?” Huey asked and Della shuddered.

 

“You try an eternity of canned and frozen food and tell me how sick you are of rations,” she said. “I haven’t seen any fresh food since before I left Earth.”

 

“A Junior Woodchuck always carries a trusty Swiss Army knife,” Huey said and proffered his from underneath his hat. Webby didn’t know how he had all that space beneath his hat; his JWG was under there too.

 

“You can’t cut her hair with a Swiss Army knife,” Scrooge objected.

 

“We can’t fit her with hair that long,” Donald argued.

 

“What do you suggest? Shaving me?” Della asked, sounding a little indignant. “I’m not going bald, Donald.”

 

“It won’t be neat, but I can do it,” Huey said. “Don’t you trust me?”

 

Considering they’d met about twenty minutes prior, Webby thought Huey was asking an awful lot of his mother, who was a relative stranger. Della hesitated and then nodded. Webby doubted she knew which triplet was which. She’d have to be introduced to her own children.

 

“Do it,” Della said. She shot Donald a glare. “It doesn’t have to look good. I don’t care what it looks like. I just want to go home.”

 

The longing was clear in her voice and Webby empathized. She wanted to go home too...and possibly hole up with Lena. There hadn’t been enough room for Lena anyway, but Webby thought she might’ve been better off staying home with her best friend. The boys didn’t seem to need her, which was disheartening.

 

Then again, she shouldn’t have expected anything else. They were distracted by their mother. She didn’t blame them. Really.

 

Dewey was chatting to their mother and telling her what they’d gone through trying to find her. The station still felt oppressive, but less so now that they had located Della and were leaving. Huey had done a hack job on his mother’s hair; it was less a bob and more an atrocity, shorn unevenly with locks of varying length, but no one had said anything about it. Della didn’t seem particularly concerned.

 

“And Webby helped,” Dewey added, startling her by speaking her name. Webby turned.

 

“She’s Uncle Scrooge’s housekeeper’s granddaughter, but she’s kinda like the unofficial fourth Duck,” Huey added, smiling at her. Surprised, Webby ducked her head and blushed.

 

“Does that make you my unofficial daughter?” Della asked and warmth blossomed in Webby’s chest. She offered Della a shy smile.

 

“If you want me to be,” she said. “Granny won’t let me go without a fight, though.”

 

“I’m not going to adopt you,” Della said gently. “But...if you’re that important to my boys, then you’ll be that important to me too. I promise.”

 

It didn’t remove the pain that Wren and Steelbeak had inflicted, but it was a start. Webby’s smile broadened. She could use a mom too.

 

“Yeah, she’s our Webs,” Louie said. “She’s strange, but she’s Webby strange, which means she’s also intimidating and awesome.”

 

Webby beamed at him and he shrugged, offering her a sly smirk in response.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Della said. “Now...can we just go home?”

 

“Gladly,” Scrooge said. “Allons-y!”

 

“Not this again,” Della muttered.

 

Scrooge grinned widely at her. It was the first time in a long time Webby had seen him beaming with happiness. “What would you suggest instead?”

 

“There’s no place like home,” Della said softly, grinning at everyone and letting her gaze rest, at the last, on Webby. “There’s no place like home.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad decides he's going to juggle working for Scrooge and working for his idol, Darkwing Duck. Dewey tries to comfort Webby about her parents. Webby, as usual, blurts to Lena how she feels about her and the story ends with Webby falling asleep on Lena's lap.

** [Collapse](https://faded-fae.livejournal.com/895124.html#cutid1) **

“You know, I could use someone to fly the Thunderquack,” Darkwing said casually. He, Launchpad, and Gosalyn were sitting around a diner table while they waited for their food. Mrs. Beakley had finally gotten sick of Launchpad’s fawning and Darkwing’s ego and told them politely but in no uncertain terms that she wanted them out. Gosalyn sipped at her milkshake and stared at the two men. Launchpad was definitely something.

  


What that something was, she wasn’t sure yet.

  


“I’ll do it! I’ll do it for free! I’ll do anything you want me to do!” Launchpad said and Darkwing gawked.

  


“I...I was going to pay you…” Darkwing faltered, glancing at his daughter. “And don’t you already have a job? With Scrooge McDuck?”

  


“I can do both,” Launchpad reassured him. “I’m pretty sure I can do both. I mean, I’m always on call for Mr. McDee, but I’ll think of something. I can’t miss my opportunity to fly my hero around.”

  


“Yeah, the hero worship is kinda weird,” Darkwing admitted. “It was cute for the first hour or so, but now I’m wondering what’s going on in that head.”

  


“Not an awful lot,” Launchpad confirmed, smirking. He was brimming over with enthusiasm, the notion of helping his beloved superhero making him twitchy. Gosalyn poked at him and he startled. She snorted.

  


“It’s just Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Jeez. He’s not even that great a superhero.”

  


“Thanks a lot, Gos,” Darkwing muttered. He studied Launchpad, who studied him in turn. Gosalyn facepalmed.

  


“He’s the best superhero,” Launchpad argued. “I meant what I said. I’ll fly the Thunderquack for you. I’ll even try not to crash it...too often.”

  


Darkwing grimaced. “That’s not encouraging.”

  


“I’m top of my class when it comes to crashing,” he replied. “The instructor said they’d never seen anyone like me before.”

  


“And that’s a good thing?” Darkwing replied, bemused.

  


“I dunno. I guess so?” Launchpad said. The waitress brought their food and he poured ketchup on the side for dip for his fries. Gosalyn tackled her burger; Darkwing Duck hadn’t touched his food yet. He was still eying Launchpad like he was a wild beast he shouldn’t have let into the house.

  


“You definitely won’t find a more loyal pilot,” Launchpad promised him.

  


Darkwing mulled this over, sipping his cola. “I can’t afford to pay you very much. And if you crash the Thunderquack, you’re going to have to be the one to fix it. I can’t buy a new one.”

  


“I can fix things,” he promised. “I fix almost everything I’ve ever crashed.”

  


Darkwing grimaced, not sure how to handle that. He glanced at Gosalyn, who shrugged. Launchpad was so desperate for this job that he was practically brimming with excitement. She’d hate to be the one to shut him down.

  


“On a provisional basis,” Darkwing said after a minute mulling it over. “And we can work out the pay scale later.”

  


“Agreed,” Launchpad said and then grimaced. “It has to be better than what Mr. McDee is giving me.”

  


“You don’t really expect me to compete with a billionaire, do you?” Darkwing asked, raising his eyebrows.

  


“Considering all the times I’ve crashed, I owe him money now,” he said, chagrined. “But don’t worry. I promise I’m totally reliable.”

  


Darkwing facepalmed. “What did I just get myself into…”

  


“Hey, service with a smile,” Launchpad promised him and Darkwing just groaned, his head hitting the table.

  


“Don’t talk to me,” Darkwing Duck said. “I need to think about what I’ve done.”

  


\-----  
  
  
  
Della wasn’t as talkative about her adventures as Webby might’ve thought. Then again, being marooned on the moon for over a decade had probably stilled the impulse to brag. Huey and Louie blamed Della’s disappearance on herself, which was going to lead to some awkward conversations later. Dewey was avoiding the whole scene and trying to get Webby to open up.

  


Webby had taken the picture from the gala and was staring at it, specifically at Steelbeak and Wren. Dewey put a hand on her shoulder.

  


“Hey,” he said gently. He sat beside her; they were flying back to Earth, which would take a few hours. Twelve, to be exact.

  


“Hi,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe, after all of that, that I ever wanted to know who my father was in the first place. He’s such an awful person.”

  


“You couldn’t help that,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. “Besides, you know what they say.”

  


“Curiosity killed the cat,” she said dully.

  


“But satisfaction brought it back,” he continued and she looked up. His smile was endearing and made her discomfort a modicum less. She still very much wanted to return to Earth and talk to Lena about all of this, but she wouldn’t be able to do that for another half a day, at least. And Della was far too nervous to pilot the ship herself, which had led to some negotiation.

  


“So your parents weren’t the best people,” Dewey continued, shooting a glance at his mother with his brothers, Donald, and Scrooge.

  


“At least you’re here, right? And you’re happy to be here and alive,” he said and nudged her. “Even if it didn’t work out the way you’d hoped, you have a family and friends. Yeah, you got hurt, but...so did we when we went to look for Mom. At least you know better now, I guess?”

  


She nodded, glancing down at the picture again.

  


“And hey,” he said. “We can always share Mom.”

  


Webby’s beak quirked. “Aren’t you going to have enough trouble with her not being able to tell the three of you apart?”

  


“We’ll work on that,” he said. Webby frowned, noticing that when someone moved the wrong way or too quickly, Della startled. Maybe she wasn’t used to that many people crowding her and needed to relearn how to deal with crowds. Webby felt a little sorry for her. But only a little.

  


“Can I join in on that girls’ night thing when we get home? Or is that a you and Lena thing?” he asked.

  


“Me and Lena,” she said. “Sorry.”

  


“If you ever wanted to do anything alone, I mean, not like a date date...or a date...or...I’m gonna stop talking now.”

  


She smiled at him. “You’re sweet.”

  


“Yeah, okay, but…” he faltered, uncertain where to go from there. “Does ‘sweet’ get me brownie points?”

  


“We’ll see,” she answered and stared over at Della and Donald. She wished she had a sibling. Then again, if it had been a full-blooded sibling, perhaps it was better that she didn’t. Her shoulders sank and the smile evaporated. This trip was going to take forever.

  


“You know when adults say that, it usually means ‘no’,” Dewey pointed out.

  


“Yeah, it gets you brownie points,” she said and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

  


“Do you wanna be left alone for a while?” he asked and, grateful, she nodded. He moved back toward his family and she curled up, hugging her knees. She was as alone as she could get, considering how packed the ship was. It was amazing there was room to sit--this had been a rush job, as the board wasn’t acquiescing to much these days and Scrooge was afraid they’d have rescinded their offer.

  


She stared at the picture again. You couldn’t pick your relatives, sometimes, but you could pick your family. And maybe, without even thinking about it, she’d chosen right.

  


\-----  
  
  
  
“Lena!” Webby cried, bowling her best friend over with a hug that sent both of them crashing into the sofa.

  


“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re happy to see me,” Lena said but she hugged Webby tightly back. “What’s up?”

  


“Movie time,” she said and, seeing as no one had followed her and she no longer had to maintain a pretense, she stepped back slightly. “And girl talk.”

  


“Is it about Dewey?” Lena asked and her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Because I think he has a crush on you.”

  


“Wait, what?” she said. “No way. And it wasn’t about that. It was about my parents.”

  


“I was wondering when you were going to get to that,” Lena said. “Well, your grandmother made us popcorn and put aside some Pep. She said if you wanted to talk to her later, she’d be all ears.”

  


“Maybe,” Webby said and the two girls sat on the couch. Although Webby had partially released Lena, she hadn’t completely let her go. She didn’t want to. The tingling sensations were entirely welcome after the day she’d had and besides, she just wanted to feel safe and wanted.

  


Lena rested her head against Webby’s.

  


“You know…” Lena suggested, “we could always skip the movie and just talk.”

  


Or kiss. Webby had just enough self-control to clamp her beak shut on that suggestion. However, judging by the look Lena was giving her, as well as her eyebrows practically climbing into her hairline, she might’ve already said it. Oops.

  


“Calm down, pink,” Lena advised and smirked back. “You’re getting ahead of yourself here.”

  


“Sorry, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t sleep much on the trip back and I’ve been kinda edgy with Steelbeak and my mom and--”

  


Lena put a finger against her beak. “I get it. Take a deep breath. We’ll watch a movie and then we can talk. I dunno about the kissing.”

  


Yet there was a gleam in her eyes that suggested otherwise. Webby perked up and Lena grinned.

  


“As long as we don’t have any interruptions like we did the last time we had a sleepover, we should be okay,” Lena said and then snorted. “At least we don’t need to worry about a money shark in the bin trying to find Scrooge’s number one dime.”

  


“Yeah, heh. Are you okay?”

  


“Me? Other than jumping at shadows and thinking Magica’s about to taunt me at least six times a day, I’m great,” she said. “Oh, and the whole tripping while walking on level surfaces thing. I’m glad Minima didn’t give me a shadow--that would’ve made things worse.”

“Do you wanna talk?” Webby asked.

  


“Maybe,” Lena said noncommittally. She wrapped an arm about Webby’s waist.  “As long as you don’t fall asleep during the movie.”

  


“I’m not gonna fall asleep!” Webby protested.

  


Five minutes later, she broke that promise and the last thing she heard was Lena chuckling.

  


\----  
  
  
  
Lena curled up around Webby. She felt safe and secure too. Magica wasn’t getting into the mansion, she was comfortable next to her best friend, and nothing bad was going to happen. She could get used to this. Well, maybe not Webby falling asleep on her, although she didn’t have the heart to budge her from her position curled up in Lena’s lap. It made Lena’s heart flutter too, even if she wouldn’t admit that to her.

  


“Sweet dreams, Webs,” Lena said, stroking Webby’s hair. “You definitely deserve them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends with Dewey/Webby and Webby/Lena. I fully expect people to complain I ruined this fic by inserting a little femmeslash, but I don't care. XD


End file.
